


Ascension

by blindwriter



Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Build, Tags May Change, but forget that epilogue, kings don't grow on trees, post-war mess, the balance is fragile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindwriter/pseuds/blindwriter
Summary: Defeating Yhwach was not the perfect solution to save the day, nor was the damage he had done so simply fixed.  His singular threat was taken care of in a flash of righteous silver, but there remained a very large, very important crisis looming in his wake that no one could possibly ignore.It was the gaping void atop a crumbling throne, whittling away piece by dusty piece.





	1. Fallout

**Author's Note:**

> **Note, pairing won’t be tagged for now.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been _years_ since I’ve had anything to do with Bleach. To give you an idea, when I wandered away from the series, the crew was still in Hueco Mundo, and adult!Nel was just introduced. I came across news of a (likely-to-be-terribad) live action movie that clued me into the fact that the manga had ended. So, I buckled down, re-watched the anime, and picked up the manga from where it left off. Because of that binge fest, I’ve got itchy fingers, so excuse my verbal diarrhea and novice characterizations as I try and hack out my first foray into this particular fandom. Be gentle, my friends, and leave any constructive opinions you might have as you pass through! I realize after nearly a two year absence, I’m rusty at this whole writing thing.

Cursing quietly, Toushirou pivoted on one foot, ignoring the scatter of debris pelting his ankles and twisted his body to shift his momentum. At some point this giant of a Quincy had to come down. Surely there was some limit to Gerard’s power, if nothing else, succumbing to his own sheer weight. Toushirou didn’t believe in so-called “miracles”, so he found it impossible to believe this monster could exponentially continue to grow forever.

Dust scratched at his throat with each breath, and he glanced sidelong at Kuchiki just as he alighted on a surviving spire. Cloak in tatters, hair covered in grime, and red smearing his cheek, what stood out most was the jerky way such staunchly noble shoulders moved as he struggled for air. If his fellow captain looked that worse for wear, he could hardly imagine his own ragged state, so far beyond his limits as he was. Chips of frost made a faint cracking sound as the protective shell over his boots shed yet another piece to the ground.

His focus returned to the hulking figure sprawled in the ruins below. The rumble of brick and stucco scattering was his only warning as the press of compressed air billowed past and ruffled his hair, culminating in a momentary vacuum of noise as the dust swirled and parted around a vaguely hand-shaped form racing toward him. Lowering his weight, he made to jump aside when his foot scraped over the sheen of pebbles he had been perched on. Eyes widening, his balance faltered, and knew immediately that he wouldn’t be able to completely dodge the incoming blow. Hyourinmaru thrummed in response, his instincts crystallizing. This would hurt.

Toushirou jerked his right arm up and sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, eyes snapping open. His fingers trembled for a blinding moment, confused at the emptiness he saw there. Bit by bit, slowly, he curled his fingers into a loose fist and pressed himself to a sitting position, allowing the cover of his futon to slide and bunch at his waist. He pushed the flat of his fist against his forehead, releasing a measured sigh. It misted against his wrist in a warm stream, wispy and ephemeral, before he lowered his hand to his lap. His heart slowed.

It had been a long time since he had dreams he remembered on waking.

He reached past the edge of his futon, curling around the scabbard of his sword, and pulled it in front of him. A shimmer gleamed there, the light of the moon casting his room in soft shadow. Toushirou turned his head to peer out the opening that led to one of the gardens. The same sheen sparkled in the night, laying a blanket of dew over everything. Another breath clouded and faded around him.

Winter was coming.

Seasons in Soul Society were relatively quite mild compared to those in the Transient World, but every once in a while there would be chilly winters. Toushirou felt a faint shiver travel up his arms and radiate through his torso, finally petering out around his tailbone. After this latest disaster, he hoped that would be the case. It would certainly be nice for a change.

He pressed the end of his sword down to help gingerly heave himself to a stand, tucking the gaps of his yukata closed a bit tighter around stifling bandages. Bare feet were silent against the tatami as he padded out the room, though he did wish he had paused to put on socks. The wooden surface outside was damp, worming between his toes with each step. Toushirou stopped at the edge, peering up at the night sky, lips pressed thinly.

Though he could not see it from there, he knew the royal palace was still in shambles. What passed for a victory over the Quincy was only technical. They had lost not only the Soul King, but three captains - four, if Komamura was added to the count. This was a devastating loss to not just the Gotei 13, but Soul Society as a whole. After Aizen was defeated, at least there were suitable candidates to fill the gaps he, Ichimaru, and Tousen had left behind, each already a past-proven captain in their own right. While Kyouraku was ordered to take the helm of the Gotei 13, and a respectable captain himself - certainly the best choice - he was barely a shell of Yamamoto’s strength and commanding presence. It was a heavy loss.

Seireitei itself was still a quagmire of shadows and debris, a veritable funhouse mix of foreign and familiar architecture. Most barracks were destroyed, and the few buildings still standing were usually inaccessible due to wrecked roads and failing infrastructure at each turn. Fires were still raging in areas, and that wasn’t even touching on the ongoing search and rescue efforts. He was glad his grandmother lived in a district outside the wall.

Damages were minimal around the outskirts, but only emergency barracks for the wounded were arranged inside the safety of Seireitei’s fragile and fractured barrier. All of the first division, and a sizable portion of the second had been delegated to ascertain and contain the damages incurred to the Maggots Nest, and more importantly, to the underground detention center. It housed equally dangerous elements that should never see the light of day, and special efforts had to be made to isolate monstrosities such as Aizen and his ilk. The twelfth had holed up in the ruins of their old labs, Kurotsuchi on a hell-bent mission to mitigate the crumbling stability of Soul Society, the human world, Hueco Mundo, and everywhere between. He imagined Urahara was working on a similar vein, wherever the hell he managed to disappear to - that man was about as immune to death as Aizen. Toushirou knew that was only a temporary measure. Despite his injuries, Kyouraku had been locked up with the remains of Central 46 ever since the dust settled, presumably in deliberation over how to solve this ticking time bomb of a problem.

The fact it had been this much time without any word was concerning.

Since there was little else to do while their new leader was occupied, all other able-bodied shinigami were placed in temporary camps in District 1 to assist in cleanup duties, rotating with the excursion teams braving the extremely unstable Dangai. Hell butterflies aside, the main Senkaimon was damaged. Maintaining the balance of souls between the worlds was shaky, at best, and extremely dangerous, but they had a duty to protect everyone. More casualties were sure to arise. It was troubling enough to maintain order as it was.

Toushirou puffed out another sigh and slid his eyes shut.

The faint whisper of his grandmother’s spiritual signature permeated the walls, and he clenched his sword more tightly. He was glad she had been outside the danger zone, and he was immensely fortunate to have a familiar place to stay until Seireitei was sufficiently repaired, but he still hated dragging his business to her doorstep. This beautiful garden, these solid walls, this sturdy wood floor - this was far better than most of his men had, even if they still smiled and said it was like an extended camping trip. They still haven’t even had the opportunity to carry out funerary services for the fallen captains, much less the countless others. All he was capable of doing was recovering as quickly as he possibly could. His condition was just another thing holding everyone back.

Amidst all this, the still clarity of the moon, her waning shape hanging high in the sky, shone heartless and beautiful as ever, illuminating his yukata in pale shades of pearl and periwinkle shadows. Even the air quivered in careful and shallow wispy breezes.

One thing he knew - this stalemate couldn’t last much longer, and something had to be done about the empty throne. Nothing was more certain than that.

* * *

He was beginning to fucking despise Nel and her disgusting method of healing. Grimmjow sneered at the stains on his jacket. Blood he could deal with. Rips and snags? What the fuck ever. Dust was hardly even noticed. But those huge ass drool spots painted odd and mushy patterns, mixing with the aforementioned blood and dirt and created something he was sorely tempted to incinerate with a cero. He might have, had they not somehow landed their sorry group back in bum-fuck nowhere _near_ Las Noches, surrounded by sand, sandstorms, and sandstone, with a dash of sandy sandpits. Even with his hierro, the flying grains bit like a bitch on bare skin. At least they were back in the air of Hueco Mundo, minus all the poison and reishi-starved atmosphere that was _supposed_ to be the royal palace of the shinigami, pure as a snow white lily. Grimmjow was super not impressed.

Biting back another curse, he shoved the crusty jacket back on with a cringe. Damn it, he liked this one too. He’d make someone get him a new one later. Maybe Urahara - speaking of, he turned to see how things were going. Midget Nel was still hovering over him, slobbering all over his _barely-scraped_ arm, he thought with a scoff, while the man in question was gamely ignoring her in favor of screwing around with some screened device. Why Nel felt the need to take care of him over the most minor bruises, he had no idea. Yhwach was dealt with, so no need to make friendly with the others anymore. The intruders should just leave already, and he’d take care of any remaining Quincy holdouts on his own. This was _his_ territory and _his_ game.

Well, it would be if it weren’t for one huge and glaring problem.

Grimmjow jolted as another tremor took hold, rumbling deeply in the distance and growing louder. The sand below him liquefied, climbing upwards and burying his feet to the ankle. He could hear Urahara cry out something about his precious equipment, but honestly, he couldn’t care less how much sand flew up and scratched the screen. He had ten others just like it. When the vibrations surged up in intensity, he fortified his foothold with a bit of reishi, and growled in annoyance. This was getting really old. Especially since this sort of shit was not supposed to happen in Hueco Mundo.

Once the shaking stopped, he said as much.

Urahara turned a haggard eye on him, pale fringe casting a shadow that made him look even more tired. Grimmjow didn’t trust it was any sort of accurate indicator of his _actual_ condition, long since resigned to second-guessing every action and inaction the man took, but he could still safely say the man looked like death warmed over. Considering he killed so-called “Death” himself, it was a fair comparison. No matter his state, that unreadable gaze still seemed to pierce right through him, and was _almost_ as infuriating as that naive glimmer in Kurosaki’s - which pissed him off just in passing thought. He hated that Urahara always seemed to be able to pluck out the words that grated on him the worst.

“While I suspect that Captain Kurotsuchi is working just as diligently on this particular problem, we must remain patient. I employed certain countermeasures beforehand, though they are not without strain. Our job here is still not done.”

The scrape of feet above made him glance up at the woman perched on top of the small rock formation they’d been sheltering in. Her dark hair hung over her shoulder as she leaned down, peering at the group. “These quakes are getting longer, Kisuke. Looks like the wandering hollows are starting to congregate in groups, too.”

He clicked his tongue. Fucking adjuchas.

“Yes, I expected that might become a problem.”

Dislodging his boots from the sand, he hopped up the rocks, landing in a casual crouch, hands tucked into his pockets. The air was still dusty, but he could see a far off flurry of clouds kicked up by a moderately-sized pack of hollows. Grimmjow narrowed his eyes, unbidden memories of the distant past rising to the surface, colored in all shades of eternal starvation and black desperation. “They’re hungry.” No, they were _famished_. Afraid. Cowards.

“Not surprising, considering their primary source of sustenance has essentially been cut off.” He glanced back down to Urahara, who had turned his back, focusing back on the machine he’d been messing with the whole time they’d been back in Hueco Mundo. “Until the distortion between worlds has been stabilized, hollows have little chance of safely returning from the human world through the Garganta. It is far more dangerous than traveling through the Senkaimon, although given the estimated damages to Seireitei, chances are high that the Gotei 13 are presently navigating the Dangai to travel back and forth to the human world.”

Now wasn’t that just _peachy_ for the shinigami. Hollows couldn’t use the fucking Dangai.

Blithely, he continued in that faux-merry tone that entirely disregarded the plain anger growing hot in Grimmjow’s chest. “We are particularly lucky that we returned when we did, otherwise we would have been locked out of Hueco Mundo for a considerable amount of time. It is much easier to address this problem here, free from… unnecessary interference.” Urahara glanced over his shoulder once more, his voice leveling out and dipping an octave. “I’m sure you understand, Grimmjow-san.”

He hated this whole situation. Aside from the adjuchas, there was still the matter of the Quincy, who may or may not still be skulking in his backyard. His gaze slid back up to the dust pile in the distance. Sooner or later, the adjuchas would get brazen, and even the voice and threat of an Espada wouldn’t be enough to deter them. A scowl curved over his lips and his brow pinched as he continued watching the distant swirling cloud, hollows lashing in and around violent whips of wind and sand. Vaguely, he wondered how many potential Vasto Lorde were waiting to be christened. Something nameless inside of him ached. It ached, and he hated all of it. “Yea, I understand.”

Grimmjow knew his role here, and it was simple - keep the rabid dogs at bay. Moreover, he had a sneaking suspicion that given the state of Seireitei, had Urahara been roped into their recovery efforts, Hueco Mundo would have been shunted aside to cannibalize itself and wither into an even more barren nightmare, full of little more than an endless forest of mindless Gillian who no longer had any sense of self. Fighting off adjuchas dumb enough to wander into his territory was easy. There were worse things he could be doing, at least. It was just the waiting part that had his teeth on edge.

Really, if they had managed to find Tier before storming the Soul King’s sad excuse of a palace, he could have skipped out by now and left this delegation shit to her. As it was, that was still on their to-do list, and aside from saving Hueco Mundo from crumbling into oblivion, that’s all he cared about. He had other places to be, people to see, promises to keep. So yea, he’d wait, he’d protect this scraggly group for now, and he’d help search for their wayward “leader”.

Wasn’t _he_ just a shining pillar of virtue. Patience of a fucking saint.

* * *

“What do you _mean_ , he’s still sleeping?” Of course, he used a completely reasonable indoor voice, and he hadn’t even glared. His was a face of friendship. So then, why -

Hanatarou shrank into an even smaller imitation of a turtle, hands rotating at the wrist in short seesaw spasms that were probably an effort to placate. “I’m sorry!” Renji cast a fresh look, one that absolutely couldn’t be mistaken for anything but _patience_. This time, Hanatarou flung an arm over his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s taking him a long time to recover, I’m sorry!”

Renji leaned back, brows beginning to furrow. “Really?” This was not only problematic, but surprising as well. “My captain already returned to our barracks to finish his recovery, though. I didn’t think his injuries were that bad. I mean, this is Captain Zaraki we’re talking about.” He frowned down to Rukia at his side. She looked just as perplexed.

Tired eyes peered up as the arm shield began to drop. “W-well, his physical injuries are well taken care of, but from what I heard from Captain Kuchiki’s account, his bankai was especially harsh on his body. It was his first time doing it, after all, and he had a very long and difficult battle with a tough opponent. It must have placed a heavy strain on his reserves. He will probably continue to sleep until he’s replenished his energy, but because he naturally has large reserves to begin with, it will probably take some extra time.” His hands clasped together, and he began to press his thumbs together. “So, that’s why - he’s still sleeping. Probably.”

“Heehh,” he hummed aloud. Captain Zaraki actually got his reiatsu drained? As in, captain of the eleventh division? _That_ Captain Zaraki? Thinking back, he was suddenly glad he and Rukia were ejected from that battle. He gave another sigh and scratched idly at his head. Still. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

At his side, Rukia crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “Since Lieutenant Kusajishi is still missing, I was hoping we could have his assistance rounding up a few members from his division. We don’t have Captain Ukitake anymore,” and here, her fingers pinched into her elbows. “But we still have to figure out the best way to manage the Dangai. The second division was my first choice, but because they have other duties, I thought the eleventh would be best suited to this kind of dangerous work. The hell butterfly nests are mostly wiped out, and it will take time for my division to restore them back to a useable number. We barely have enough to give one to each division’s current commander. It would be foolish for us to head through by ourselves, were it not our solemn duty.”

He understood that, but the members of the thirteenth weren’t exactly touted for their outstanding spiritual reserves.

Renji scrubbed at his head a few more times, frustration building in his chest. “That don’t leave much in the way of options. I’d say ask the fifth, but they’re already saddled up with the Kidou Corps trying to repair the Senkaimon. I suppose we could try asking Captain Hitsugaya - ah, but I hear he’s handling Rukongai all by himself. Well, the upper districts, anyway. And with the gatekeeper’s help.” He pinched his chin in thought and began mumbling. “The ninth is already busy with the search and rescue in Seireitei, and it ain’t like we can go ask the seventh or eighth with their captains gone. That just really leaves us and the third…” Blinking, he looked over just as Rukia pursed her lips again. “Ya sure you don’t want my help asking Captain Kuchiki? Right now, we’re mostly just managing the supply lines, so we could probably spare some guys to help keep the Dangai stable.”

Honestly, the best person to ask of everyone would be Ichigo, all things considered, but he was not allowed to leave Soul Society until further notice. Something, something, unknown spiritual level, something, effects on the human world, something, combat pass, something. There was some complicated spiel that Captain Kurotsuchi gave, but the main gist he got out of it was that it was too risky for Ichigo to go galloping home while the damages done by Yhwach were still unchecked. Sounded like a lot of bullshit to him, but evidently there was already a missive from Captain Kyouraku about the possibility, even before their final throw down. Ichigo had just given one look at his dad, then said okay.

Renji rubbed at his chin. He kind of wondered what happened with his dad after that.

“Don’t be absurd, I could not possibly trouble my brother like that!” She sounded so earnest at the kneejerk response, that it made him sigh. God, she was stubborn when it came to his captain. “This is a problem for the thirteenth division, and as their lieutenant, it is my duty to solve it!”

“I guess that just leaves the third then.” He didn’t know too much about Captain Ootoribashi, but maybe they could get in a good word from Kira. Turning back to Hanatarou, he swept a casual glance over the bank of beds hosting several injured shinigami behind him. “Hey, where’s Lieutenant Kira, then? I heard he was injured.”

Face visibly paling, he saw the drop in Hanatarou’s expression and frowned. “Ah, he’s also in really bad shape. His life was just barely saved by Captain Kurotsuchi, but…,” his voice trailed off as his eyes drifted up and to the side, brows drawing into a concerned slant.

Renji felt his frown deepen, because that sounded serious. “Can he have visitors?”

Hanatarou tilted his head to the side, eyes still shifted off to the side. “I don’t know if it would help…”

“If you would, please. We would like to meet him.” He turned to look at Rukia, who seemed to catch on to what he was trying to do. The new captain of the third might be one of Ichigo’s buddies and a captain from a century ago, but he was still hardly someone to approach without a recommendation. Neither of them had personally met the guy. On the other hand, Kira was an academy friend.

Drifting eyes finally focused back on the pair, and Hanatarou ducked his head at Rukia’s serious tone, his face still smeared with trepidation. “Well, if you insist, Lady Rukia, but please do not be surprised when you see him.”

Rukia’s face softened with a grateful smile, and it made Renji relax. “Thank you, Hanatarou.”

They trailed after their guide through a maze of beds and pathways lined with drapes, the disconcerting sound of moans echoing in the air. Most of the non-critically injured were stationed in tents outside, but once they stepped up into one of the buildings, a sense of unease started to fester in his chest. He knew this war had done a lot of damage to Seireitei, but he’d been trying to ignore how much the people had suffered, too. Hanatarou finally paused in front of a sliding door and turned. “He’s inside here, but if he is sleeping, please do not wake him. And try not to excite him.”

“Thanks again,” Renji replied.

Once he passed the threshold, he realized why Hanatarou was so reluctant to lead them there. Kira was awake, but he had his face to the window, pale as the sheet over his lap. His right arm lay lifeless at his side, and a tremendous void sat where his right lung should have been, filled by a myriad of tubes and bags, copious bandages, and hooked up to a mechanical device next to him bearing the insignia of the twelfth. How in the living hell did he survive? A very brief but heartfelt and honest whisper of gratitude bubbled up and was sent to the captain who had saved Kira’s life.

“Y-yo.” Renji was dumbstruck at his condition. He could hear Rukia suck in a breath at his right.

Kira canted his head, sunken eyes turning on them. “Oh, hello.” His voice was very faint and hollow, scratchy, and like he really, really shouldn’t be using it in the first place.

He suddenly felt incredibly stupid for forcing his way in, even if it was for Rukia’s sake, and drew a hand up to scratch at the edge of his bandana. Awkward. “You look, uh, - well.” Renji’s eyes darted to the side. Ugh, it was hard to look at him. Rukia gave a sharp jab into his side, and he coughed. “What the hell, Rukia!”

“Why do you sound so depressed? You should be ashamed at yourself!” Her hiss wafted to his ears, and he glared down at her.

“Ah.” Kira’s voice drowned in the background.

“I was trying to be nice! He probably wants to hear kind words right now!”

“You have always been terrible at lying, even a child could see through that completely insincere platitude. He’s obviously not _well!_ Why couldn’t you offer a better greeting to an old friend? You’re being rude!”

“What the hell else am I supposed to say? You look like shit? Like he would appreciate _that_.”

Rukia huffed, drawing in another breath. “Obviously not! Search that brain of yours for something better!” Turning on a heel, she poured her energy into her words. “I wish for you a quick and complete recovery!”

“Uhm,” came the weak response from the bed. “Thanks.”

Clearly self-satisfied, she nodded and crossed her arms. Renji gritted his teeth, giving Kira his attention once more. “Look, we’re sorry to interrupt your recovery, but we really needed to see you.”

“I figured.” Kira lifted his head, something that looked like a shadow of a smile curving his lips. It was just a miniscule sparkle, but Renji felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to fade. If he could smile despite all this, then he could rest easy. “So, what do you need?”

Taking in a deep breath to compose himself, he straightened. Rukia was right. Now wasn’t the time for him to be getting emotional about his friends. They had things to do. Renji lifted his chin and looking Kira clear in eyes, finally got down to business.

* * *

He’d been staring at the grain of the door for a grand total of five minutes. It was unnervingly quiet, but he was positive he was in the right place, and there was no denying the pulse of spiritual energy he could feel from the other side. His weight shifted to the other foot, hand hovering. He wasn’t _hiding_ per se, even if he had totally tamped down his own reiatsu as far as it would go, but he just had to prepare his heart first. Shifting again, he was sure that there was nothing wrong with him being there, and he was absolutely looking forward to the reunion, but it was just kind of hard to open the door, because it felt like the moment had passed. Not that anyone knew he had been hovering for six minutes now.

He reached up and scratched at his chin. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for him to come by, and it wasn’t like anyone had said he couldn’t, given everything that had happened. This was a really rare opportunity, and he was just curious. Well, might as well take the plunge. It wouldn’t hurt to set up some foundations, because he had a suspicion that things were going to become more crowded soon. Maybe he should climb in the window instead?

A loud clatter from inside made his shoulders jump, and he pulled the door open before he could think better of it. “What’s wrong?!” Rangiku half-stood, crouched over a slowly sliding and flagging pile of papers, evidently reaching for a stamp that was still rolling along the floor. Her eyes widened. Something like several seconds passed until the pile gave way, sliding into a tilted mess across the surface of the desk.

“Captain… Shiba?” Rangiku straightened, eyes still like saucers.

Ah, so nostalgic! He lifted a hand, beaming. “Yo!”

Her assets were still as ample as ever, what a wonderful choice of uniform! Classic fashion was the best. His smile widened as she padded her way over, bouncing with each step. Isshin swept his arms open, ready to accept her heartfelt hug at any mome-

_Wham!_

Stumbling back, his shoulder rammed into the wall with a solid thud, and he brought up a hand to gingerly rub at his jaw. He teared up and sent her a wounded look. So violent! To her own old superior, too! “Ow!”

“That’s for running off without saying anything!” Rangiku hovered over him, hands perched on her hips and radiating fury. “Do you know how much time we spent searching for you? You are the worst example of a captain -” She paused and pursed her lips, looking to the sky as if searching for the right words. “- wait, you’re not a captain anymore. Still, you’re twenty years too late to ‘yo’ me!”

Isshin chuckled, still rubbing at his chin. “Got stuck in traffic?”

At that, she looked about ready to wind up another impressive right hook, and he raised his hands in surrender, eyes squeezed shut. He heard her huff out a sigh, and peeked one open when the blow didn’t come as expected. Chin high, Rangiku was pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows drawn into a tense furrow and lower lip sticking out in a tight scowl. “Why are you here?”

“Ooh, Rangiku has become so mature in my absence! I’m so proud!” He sidestepped the punch that time, skipping past her to the mess of papers at the desk. A cursory glance told him it was more than just the reports from the conflict with Yhwach. Several documents were in the familiar format used by the officiaries of Rukongai. There were quite a few. His attention turned back up when he heard Rangiku stomping over.

“These are none of your business.” Ouch, that stung. He leaned back when she strode right past, swiping up the fallen papers and placing them back into haphazard stacks. Isshin bent and picked up the forgotten stamp from the floor, holding his sleeve as he held it out for her to take. With a sigh, she took it and placed it on the highest pile. “… thank you.”

He backed up a step, and tucked his hands into his sleeves. She actually looked pretty stressed out, far worse than he had been expecting. “Not a problem.”

Several sheets in hand, she tapped the edges against the desk to straighten them, and finally sat, placing them in front of her. “I’m ready to listen.”

A faint smile curled his lips, and he couldn’t help but tilt his head a bit to the side. She really had matured in his absence. “What, I can’t come to check up on my favorite lieutenant?”

Flipping a hand, she dismissed his concern. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have punched you when you came in the door.” Her hand paused and she frowned at it, shaking it a bit more loosely. “I forgot how hard your chin was.”

Isshin grinned, finally taking the time to look around the makeshift office. It was clearly a temporary space, filled with nothing but the bare necessities and reams of papers stuffed into numerous boxes emblazoned with Rukongai district numbers. He remembered a much better filing system in his day. “I’m surprised you’re here by yourself. Where’s Toushirou? Shouldn’t he be helping you with all of this?” It was ironic, because as he recalled, it was always the other way around. Aside from business, he also wanted to see how his protégé was doing. Being out of the loop meant he hadn’t been able to get much information. It took some bribing just to figure out where the temporary barracks for division ten were even stationed.

Rangiku was full of sighs. He looked over as her face drew down. “He’s still recovering.”

“Still?” Isshin frowned. “What’s his condition?”

“His bankai took a lot out of him. According to the report, he had to force himself to age to draw out its full potential.” At that, his eyebrows rose in surprise, and Rangiku took that moment to wave her hand at him to stave off anything he might have had to ask about that unusual side-effect. “He went back to normal after the battle was done, but it’s taking him a long time to recover his reiatsu.”

Isshin turned his head, searching, then peering in the direction he could faintly feel Toushirou’s energy coming from. Toushirou had fine-tuned his reiatsu control directly due to Isshin’s input, so if he was still at a point where he couldn’t hide the output, it must mean he was still quite drained. “After this many days, and he’s still like that?” That really wasn’t normal. “What did the fourth division have to say about it?”

Rangiku had propped her elbows up on the desk, resting her forehead against a closed fist. “That it was probably a side effect of having his life span shortened. If I hadn’t listened to his order to leave, maybe I could have stopped that Quincy from turning him into a monster.”

“Wait, what do you mean shortened?”

Her hair slipped over an ear and fell to conceal her cheek. “We were almost dead. He shouldn’t have been forced to fight as it was, but one of the Quincy had the ability to make us puppets - like walking dead. Captain Kurotsuchi had to eat at the core of his very soul to reverse it. All of us who were still alive had something to give, to compensate for the reversal, but I think it might have taken a lot more for Captain Hitsugaya. You know how he is. He would have never passed out in the first place if he wasn’t already -” she choked up, and Isshin looked up at the ceiling, face somber.

Yes, he was quite aware of how Toushirou was. It was part of what made him such an excellent shinigami – a captain, now. He reached out a hand and placed it on Rangiku’s head. “He knew what he was doing. He was defending his division. He was protecting his lieutenant. Sometimes, you just have to let your captain do what he has to do.”

“… Each and every one of you, I swear,” she mumbled. After a moment, she pushed his hand aside and straightened. “If you’re looking for Captain Hitsugaya, he’s in the building next door. It’s the new place he bought for his grandmother after his promotion. I’ve got work to do, but if you go now, you might be able to get there before she makes dinner.”

Isshin glanced over the mountain occupying the desk, before stuffing a thumb in his sash. “Looks like you need my help. If it’s just Rukongai, even someone like me should be able to give you a hand, right?” He smiled at the top of her head, fond memories whisking by like butterflies. “It can wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grimm has a serious potty mouth, for reals, wow. Also, I have no idea what I’m doing, haha! I usually have _much_ better foresight and planning (ie – ANY AT ALL), but screw it, I’m just going to spit this out, and see where the heck it flies and how far. Vague plot idea, please don’t bulldoze me into yet another slow burn, kthnx? I’d rather not write myself into a corner and have to revise or retcon. I kind of just want to write irresponsibly, haha. /futile prayer is futile


	2. If patience was a fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those times when I feel like a story would be better suited to comic format, since there are so many small things that would be easier to convey visually [I’m an artist, among other things]. Also, I’m still trying to get back in touch with my beta, so if you find anything I missed, yell at me and I’ll fix it.

Ichigo was tremendously bored. The explanation was complicated but he sort of understood why he couldn’t go home yet. After spending time with the royal guard, he knew his reiatsu was probably entirely different from what it had been before he first raced to Hueco Mundo. He knew the importance of controlling it after seeing what kind of an effect it could have on regular people - thanks to Aizen’s horrible misdeeds - and didn’t want to risk harming anyone.

He was still bored, though. All he could do was bide his time and deal with the memories still fresh in his mind. Inoue may have healed his wounds, but he had a hard time escaping the battle on a mental level.

When he finally struck Yhwach down, everyone had stood still for something close to five minutes. Even after the last of him vanished in a sizzle of glowing reishi, they held their breath and half-expected him to rise up from the dead once more. It came with this unnerving feeling of incompleteness, like it wasn’t really over. The feeling was a foreign one, because in all his previous battles, there was always a very real, very concrete resolution. Yhwach’s powers were terrifying, enough to haunt their victory with uncertainty and trepidation.

That was days ago, and even Ishida had assured him that Yhwach’s own prophecy stated he would have been lording over his new perfect world by this point had he not truly been defeated. His leg itched, and multiple times he found himself bouncing his knee before even realizing it.

It made him a little stir-crazy, especially since he was effectively on house arrest. Soul arrest. World arrest? Whatever.

What bothered him was how easily his friends were taking the entire string of events, as if nothing at all was wrong with waging a war, then calmly discussing the upcoming exams while munching on slices of peeled mikan. There had to be some sort of decompression phase. Did they not feel the tension in the air at all?

Ichigo was stubbornly refusing to recognize his penchant for hunting hollows as a stress-relief measure in the past. He wanted to be back home, making things go back to normal, but there was a thin thread of apprehension that wouldn’t budge, and he had an inkling of why - mainly because it would spike each time the air would tremble, the ground beneath him moving enough to make him spread his feet and brace. They weren’t bad, certainly not like the unsteady lurching and swaying he was more familiar with from the occasional quake back home, and nothing ever fell from any shelves. What made them unpleasant was the consistent and smooth rumble, sort of like those vibrating chairs that took coins, or perhaps like the programmed release of pent up energy from a timed mechanism. Actually, that was likely close to what was actually happening – the wheezes from a machine, only one that wasn’t working the way it was supposed to. They were a stark reminder that there was something fundamentally wrong, and it wasn’t a problem that would go away on its own.

He trusted Soul Society to do something about it, but the longer it went on, the more uneasy he began to feel. Ichigo knew it was a big deal, so it probably would take a lot of time to fully patch up. It worried him, because the more time he spent waiting, the more serious he realized things had to be. The sooner they could fix it, the sooner he could get his substitute shinigami pass fixed and go home and hunt hollows and _help_. The longer he waited, the worse he felt. His atrocious reiatsu control was never a real issue until now.

“I wonder if there is anything I can do to help with the recovery here,” he mumbled before thinking to stop himself.

“You’re a key figure in this war. I sincerely doubt Soul Society would appreciate you gallivanting around and getting lost before things have calmed down.” Ishida brought his cup of tea to his lips, not even bothering to look his way. “You have a tendency to cause trouble.”

Ichigo couldn’t really argue that point, but it still pissed him off, because it wasn’t like Ishida had _any_ room to judge. “I wouldn’t get lost,” he retorted instead, unwilling to let that jab go. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be on my own, anyway.”

“Even worse, you’d need a babysitter.” The cup clicked against the surface of the table. “You’d be taking someone away from their job.”

“I am not _useless_.”

“While I understand your restlessness, we are all in the same boat. We need to remain calm and focus on moving forward one step at a time. Let’s make the most of the down time we have here.” There was mild reproach in Ishida’s gaze that spurred an equally mild urge to grab him by the collar and shake.

“I am calm. Where the hell did you even _get_ those?” He pointed emphatically at the spread of paper, texts, and worksheets stacked neatly at Ishida’s side, a book clearly marked _Advanced Chemistry_ pinched between his fingers.

He pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as if it were a matter of fact. “I brought them with me, of course. I have to keep my grades up.”

“The world was ending, and you brought your _homework?_ ” Just _where_ did he — Scratch that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He helplessly looked to Inoue for support, only to see her opening up a spiral to take notes, fluttering at Ishida’s side. And was that her – yes, she was digging her phone out of a cleverly disguised pocket.

“Chapter 16, right? I had the assignments here, but didn’t think I could get to them. I’m so glad you brought the books, Ishida-kun!” This was _not_ a study session!

A large, heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he tilted his chin to find Chad standing at his side, thankfully without a pencil or paper or any other studious instrument. Finally, someone with an actual awareness of their situation. Slowly, Chad brought up his other hand, curled it into a fist, then lifted his thumb. “It’s okay. If you have to take the makeup test, we’ll help you study.”

He wanted to toss his arms in the air.

Still, he couldn’t honestly complain. Ishida’s involvement aside, there had been no reason for Inoue and Chad to stay. While he trusted Karin to take care of Yuzu and vice versa, and while Kon was hardly the perfect roommate, the sense of normalcy they brought were a salve to his soul. He missed his sisters, but having friends nearby definitely helped.

Everyone else who came from the human world left Soul Society almost immediately in Yukio’s weird elevator room, citing concerns about the crumbling stability between the worlds. He heard even the Visored had come to fight, though he never got the chance to see them before they left with the rest of the Fullbringers. Shinji had dropped by shortly after to tell him about it, gushing about the crew all wearing old duds again. Ichigo kind of wished he had the chance to see it.

Grousing under his breath, he dropped himself in the corner, setting Zangetsu across his lap before leaning against the wall. Instead of listening to the impromptu study session, he tilted his head up and watched the clouds passing by outside the window. It would be another while before someone came by to give them dinner. Perhaps then he could ask about whether or not he could help with anything.

He closed his eyes, grasping at the shifting fog in his mind. Might as well try reaching Zangetsu again. If he could restore their bond, maybe he could figure out how to suppress his reiatsu on his own. Waiting had never been one of his strong points, after all.

* * *

Isshin looked up at the impressive building laid out before him. He remembered his own bonus surprising him upon gaining his captaincy, but he doubted even he would have been able to afford this kind of a place with his monthly stipend. Either Toushirou was getting super special treatment, or he was even more financially shrewd than he imagined. His lips jutted out in a pout. Disregarding that captains got special quarters in Seireitei, he still felt kind of put out. It was even more impressive than his clinic.

What greeted him at the foyer was a face so dimly nostalgic, he was shocked she even remembered him. Isshin himself hadn’t even remembered her face until the door had cracked open. They had probably only met perhaps twice, recalling her better as the beloved maternal figure from the scant stories Toushirou would occasionally share. After exchanging light greetings, he padded down the hall, head tilted as he hunted for the source of reiatsu he could feel bleeding through the walls. Three halls and too many turns later he found it, carefully sliding open the screen dividing the hallway from an outlying room. A futon still lay spread out on the floor, a testament to ongoing recovery.

The wall leading to the inner garden was wide open, and on the edge, there Toushirou stood, peering up at the sky, sword loosely hanging from his fingers. At the noise, he had half-turned, eyes widening a fraction. “You’re …” Isshin waltzed in, a casual smile coursing his face. Toushirou recovered from his momentary shock as he fully turned, voice coming out in that familiar sullen bite. Isshin had been hoping for a bigger reaction, but he supposed experience had taught him at least a measure of calm. Still, he was disappointed to see the impersonal wariness there. “You should not be here. What are you still doing in Soul Society?”

“Family stuff,” he dismissed, taking the moment to settle his weight against one of the posts.

“I’m fairly sure when Kurosaki was ordered to stand by, that meant him and only him.”

He couldn’t help but bark out a short laugh. “They didn’t specify.” Besides, he was pretty certain he wasn’t the only one who stuck around.

The prickle of piercing eyes danced over his skin, and he patiently waited as Toushirou continued formulating and discarding various plausible reasons for his presence. With a sigh, he lowered the end of his zanpakutou to the floor, and pressed his palm into the pommel. It still dwarfed him, and Isshin allowed the nostalgic sight to wash over him. “I don’t want to have this conversation,” he finally, and quite bluntly, stated.

Isshin puffed out another laugh, though he could absolutely understand. “I haven’t even said anything!”

“I can guess.” Toushirou turned, giving his attention back to the placid surface of the pond. “I can’t think of many other reasons why you would seek me out.”

“Ouch,” he grabbed the patch of fabric over his heart, honestly wounded this time, because he _was_ glad to see an old familiar face. Toushirou was one of his beloved subordinates, once upon a time. “So cold! I was worried about my little protégé! I didn’t think you would grow so antisocial, Toushirou.”

An eyebrow twitched. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya now.”

Isshin nodded his head in approval. “Yes, and just as I expected. You’ve done very well for yourself, I’m quite proud. I left the division in very capable hands.” That earned him a sigh.

“So? What business do you have with me, ex-captain Shiba?”

Isshin felt his shoulders tense at the reminder, mood dropping at the frigid tone and humor fading from his smile. He lifted his gaze, looking over Toushirou’s profile, eyes closed and brow drawn down in a well-practiced scowl, unruly hair only serving to enhance it. Those young features always made him a little sad. So very young. He’d apologize for leaving, but knew given a chance, he would do the same things all over again.

“It wasn’t easy getting much information about what happened during this war, you know. The only thing anyone is talking about is how the Soul King is dead, but that isn’t outside of what I already knew. No one wants to talk about the casualties. I had to hear from Rangiku about what kind of battles you had to go through, and what kind of a close call you went through. I heard drastic measures had to be taken to make sure you survived, such as reducing your lifespan. Suffice it to say, of course I got concerned about how you’re doing.”

Fingers pinched a bit tighter over the hilt of his sword, and Isshin had to mentally sigh. “I think you of all people should know it’s unwise to underestimate a captain.”

“I’m not second-guessing your capabilities as a captain.” Lifting his arms, he crossed them, tucking his hands neatly into each sleeve and watched as the furrow in Toushirou’s brow pinched even further. “You’re a far better captain than I was.”

Scoffing, Toushirou tilted his head and muttered. “Of course.”

“After Captain-Commander Yamamoto’s death, I’m pretty sure you know what Captain Unohana was trying to do.” Finally, aquamarine eyes slid open, looking calmly out over the garden, lips pressed into a semblance of a frown. Several silent moments passed by. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but tell me honestly. How are you doing?”

A muscle jumped in Toushirou’s jaw, until he finally breathed out a misty sigh. “This is why I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

Ah, just as he feared. “That bad, huh?” His chin dropped, and huffed out a deep sigh. “I knew with him gone, it would be difficult, but it’s worse than I thought. I was hoping to hear something from Shunsui by now. I really didn’t want to have to go back home if I could help it.” Going home meant a plethora of problems he’d hoped he had escaped from.

Toushirou tilted his face just enough to glance at him from the corner of his eye for several long, heavy seconds, before looking back at the lazy ripples. “Captain-Commander Kyouraku is still locked up with the surviving members of Central 46.”

Letting his own eyes drift out, he watched the slow sway of the naked willow branches dipping their tips into the water. He wished he could just go and coddle his daughters, the lights of his life, until the very end. It would certainly be much easier. “I was never one for politics.”

“For one who isn’t interested in it, you’re certainly thick in it. You talk like none of this concerns you at all.” Toushirou’s eyes narrowed, and he could practically feel the palpable anger stabbing into his skin. “I would rather gut myself before sparing even one frozen snowflake for _that_ monster. But I don’t like any of the options.”

Isshin had to smile a bit sadly at that. Toushirou was looking at him again, frown firmly etched in place. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

His teeth gritted, then he jerked his chin back, clicking his tongue as he glared back over the garden. The temperature dropped quite noticeably, and he was glad he had his arms tucked away. “I’m sure we can figure things out once Shunsui manages to escape the clutches of those old men down at Central 46. They tend to think too single-mindedly, but if anyone can get them to back off, it will be him. We have to fix things one thing at a time.” He pressed away from the post and came to rest a hand on Toushirou’s hair. “Don’t push yourself too hard. There is still time. We’ll figure something out, so until then, I hate to ask, but bear it, okay?”

That his hand wasn’t immediately brushed off was a huge indicator that Toushirou was certainly taking it bitterly. “I don’t know how long this can last,” he finally muttered after a lengthy pause.

While appreciated, the honesty did little to comfort him. “I didn’t say it earlier, but I’m glad you survived, Toushirou.”

His head titled to shake off the hand, and he heard the huff. “It’s Captain Hitsugaya now.”

Isshin smiled.

* * *

The distant shouts and roars and cackles were nearly indiscernible over the din of whirling sand. Yoruichi stood with her arms crossed, observing the scene with a detached eye. It wasn’t necessarily vital at this point to confront nearby enemies, but Grimmjow had stalked off without a word, jumping into the fray with relish. This wasn’t a fight - it looked more to her that he was playing with the hollows, lashing out with only the most shallow of cuts before retreating just out of their range. He’d been at it for a while, too.

The whole thing just felt off to her. She had thought he was at least a bit more particular and focused with his bloodlust. It wasn’t like Grimmjow was easy to manage in the first place. Setting him out to get even more excitable hardly sounded like a secure plan for keeping him in check. It was hard enough trusting him to actually come back when he was done out there.

She jumped down, and stepped across the short distance to glance down at Kisuke’s curved back. He was hunched over his computer, one knee jiggling in an old habit of his that meant he was having trouble. It probably had something to do with the fact that he had hardly slept at all since they’d arrived, and she was starting to get concerned. “Is it really alright to let him go off on his own like that?”

“I see nothing wrong with letting him blow off steam.”

Yoruichi leaned her hip against the nearest rock and crossed her arms again, carefully sizing up his ragged state. There were very few times she had seen him like this, but given the situation she wasn’t going to press. “Aside from that, if you really wanted to talk to me in private, there are many other ways that don’t involve advertising our location.”

That got him to turn and glance up at her, a faint smile that made his eyes glitter. “Indeed, but isn’t it always nice to get some exercise and fresh air?” That was hardly what she would consider fresh air.

“So, are you going to tell me what it is we’re actually doing here? You and I both know you didn’t need to be here in Hueco Mundo to offset the flow of energy between worlds.” She looked up, just to make sure Grimmjow was still immersed in his fight. “I’m also pretty sure the quakes should be getting better - or at least stabilizing, not getting worse.”

“You wound me, Yoruichi-san. I may be able to mitigate the problem, but until a new soul king is installed, I cannot entirely fix it.” That got her jaw twitching, and Kisuke turned his face askance, mouth curling into an impish mask. The line of scarring traced his cheeks, still an angry pink, and his eyes were bloodshot. He hardly looked any better than when they first arrived. Her gaze skipped over to the sleeping Nel curled at his side, before returning her attention to Kisuke’s blasé front.

“She’s tired herself out. I’ve known you far too long to be blind to what that means.”

His lips cracked, exposing the glint of teeth. “What’s this? Concerned?”

“Kisuke.”

“You know how my Benihime is.”

The breeze tousled her bangs, tickling at the side of her face. She felt her agitation rising and forcibly squashed it down, because when Kisuke got the bug to be vague, she had to remind herself that he learned from the best. “Are you forgetting who it is you’re talking to?”

“Of course not! That would be quite irresponsible of me.”

“Then,” she continued after suppressing the urge to drop a hand chop on his head. “I suggest you enlighten me sooner than later.”

The tip of his fan tapped against his chin and he glanced off and to the side, clearly deliberating his words. “While this might sound fatalistic, I actually had considered the possibility that the Soul King would meet his demise. Naturally, that has left us all in quite the bind, because if you consider it from the viewpoint of Central 46, there are not many who fit the basic criteria needed to take his place. Factoring in character, that leaves even fewer options. Moreover, the process of coronation is rather barbaric by even the loosest of standards. When it comes from push to shove, difficult decisions need to be made, but it is absolutely worth thinking outside the box while we still can. I’m sure you are fully aware of the implication hastily crowning a new king at this point would have.”

She pressed her lips together, fingertips digging into the flesh of her arms. That was something she knew everyone was probably trying their hardest to skirt around. Central 46 would certainly press the issue, but she trusted in Shunsui to do something about it. Just in case, she had left Yuushirou behind, and Sui Feng would be able to help him.

“Well, it isn’t like he has a place to sit anyway, with the palace in such ruin.” Yoruichi carefully watched how the words seamlessly flowed from his mouth. Of course she was _concerned_. Damn it, Kisuke.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“Despite the twitchy inhabitants, wouldn’t you consider Hueco Mundo an interesting place? When you look at the aftereffects of the Soul King’s death, you can more precisely determine the exact mechanism that kept them in check in the first place. Of course, determining this by observation would be quite devastating to someplace such as Soul Society or the human world, but the damage is actually relatively mild in a barren place such as Hueco Mundo.”

Kisuke and his damned petri dishes. “That still seems like going a bit far, Kisuke. Even if they are corrupted, the hollow are still souls that suffer enough as it is.”

“Agreed! Which is why I actually _have_ been attempting to figure out why these tremors are getting worse. There appears to be a variable I’m unaware of that is interfering with my attempts to stabilize the Garganta. For now, I am attempting to re-establish contact with Soul Society so we can get more information.” Yoruichi quirked her eyebrows. So Kisuke really had been stumped. He opened the fan and spread it across his face, likely to conceal his frown. “Regardless, it is invaluable data. That aside, there is something else I’m curious about, but we shall have to go to Las Noches for that.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that. “Las Noches? I’m pretty sure we won’t find Tier there. Last I recall, the place was overrun by the Quincy, but they seem smart enough to not keep such a high-profile prisoner in such an obvious place, especially since the strongest of their forces left to help in the invasion. If the hollow are to maintain any semblance of order through this crisis, they’re going to need her.”

Honestly, she was of two minds about why they were even putting forth the effort, because their primary mission as shinigami was to purify the poor hollows, not legitimize their existence by sanctioning their hierarchy. It would at least lift a weight from their shoulders once they found her, because Tier’s influence as the top Espada would be instrumental in cleansing Hueco Mundo of the remnant Quincy. She had no doubt the holdouts were still eradicating hollows, and at a dangerous pace, if the tremors were any indication. Yoruichi wanted to address the persisting Quincy plague first and foremost, and Tier was a reasonable means to that end. It still sat sour on her tongue, though.

“I believe you underestimate our friend here.”

Yoruichi stared for what felt like a small eternity, fully expecting him to elaborate. When no such explanation came, she had to grit her teeth around the words. “And exactly _why_ should we place any sort of faith in his ability to quell the hollows?” Even as they spoke, he was ripping into several. “Strength aside, I don’t trust in his ability to talk down a lizard much less a hoard.” She would sooner trust Nel’s wildly imbalanced personality than Grimmjow.

“Talking? Oh, heavens no!” His eyes were laughing, mirthful and unrepentant, toothy grin hidden from view. “But don’t you find him at all interesting?”

“No.” And she couldn’t fathom why Kisuke even entertained the thought.

“Really, not one bit? Tell me, Yoruichi-san, how much do you know about him? Nel-san was gracious enough to indulge my curiosity about the Espada, and adding to everything we know happened during our conflict with Aizen, he’s quite the colorful character.” She was still struggling to follow his train of thought. If by “colorful” he meant heartless and violent and bloodthirsty she could understand, but that applied to nearly every hollow. “Among other things, perhaps it bears mentioning that he has the illustrious distinction of being the one and only Espada to balk at Aizen’s iron rule. He evidently even lost an arm once because of it. Rather venturesome of him, don’t you think?”

“…”

“Perhaps I should also mention that he is the oldest surviving arrancar, only the second to step foot in the capital of Hueco Mundo.”

“…”

“He’s quite familiar with the ins and outs of Las Noches, I hear. Prone to wandering all sorts of places he isn’t supposed to. Places even Tier-san wouldn’t know about.”

She was beginning to grasp his idea, and she did not like it. “No.”

His eyes drifted to the side. “Last time I was here, I also heard a distressing rumor from a certain arrancar that had fled Las Noches that the Quincy king had impure intentions for our wayward Espada. With his ghastly treatment, why, it’s a wonder he managed to retain _anyone_ in his employ.”

“You cannot _seriously_ -”

He snapped his fan shut, and tapped the edge of his close-lipped smile. “Well, that’s all just speculation for now. In the meantime, we should be on our way!”

Yoruichi brought up her hand and pressed her fingers into her forehead to stave off a headache. “Of all the sketchy ideas, I would have thought you would know better than this. So that’s why you want to go there. I should have known. This is a _terrible_ idea.”

“As far I can tell, it is worth exploring in the face of the alternatives. If any time is worth revisiting hubris, I believe it is now.” Kisuke grinned up at her, teeth glinting in the moonlight. “I suggest we hurry.”

* * *

A tempest was coming, heavy footfalls echoing down the halls like reverberating peals of thunder.

Byakuya set his brush aside, smoothing the wrinkles from the edge of the paper with his fingers and placing his paperweight at the corner to allow it to dry without curling. He lifted his chin just as his lieutenant burst his calm solitude with the white toe of his foot carelessly sliding open the door.

“Captain!” His arms were full, leather-bound folios stacked under each palm. “I’m back!”

Not entirely trusting that he wouldn’t make a mess, Byakuya moved his ink block aside and opened a spot on his desk. “Were you able to reach every division?”

With a loud slap, he dropped the folios on the corner of his desk and heaved out a sigh. “Yea. Everyone is spread out pretty thin, so it took some time, but I managed to find everyone. Because of the promotion, division eight was covered by third seat Tatsufusa, but I got follow-up from Lieutenant Ise. I had to make do with Ikkaku for the eleventh, since Captain Zaraki is still out and Lieutenant Yachiru is still missing. Their requests are all here.”

Memories from his last battle with the Quincy floated up, recalling the sheer destructive force of Captain Zaraki’s bankai. At the time, he thought he remembered seeing the vague shape of Zaraki’s lieutenant, but no trace had since been found of her. There was something very odd and unnerving about that. Byakuya was not prone to flights of the imagination, but he lacked any further evidence to support her presence there. Any reiatsu she might have had would have been entirely drowned out, making him half doubt he had seen her at all.

He counted the binders, reaching out to take one from the top of the pile. “There are only eleven.”

Renji straightened, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He shoved his arms into his sleeves, uneasy scowl marring his face - a sure sign that he had something to report that he didn’t particularly like. His lips twisted around as he searched for the words.

Byakuya’s eyes skimmed over the folders, answering his own unspoken question. “I do not see the formal requests from division thirteen.” He glanced up, pinning Renji with a solid rebuke in his eyes. “This does not count as everyone.”

Shifting on his feet, Renji averted his eyes and scratched at his elbow. “Well, I _did_ find Rukia, but she assured me that she would take responsibility for her division herself. She’s been running around the barracks herself – I actually ran into her at the fourth, but she said the supplies should be divided out to the other divisions. Something about her division being gone and through the Dangai anyway, so no need to waste resources.”

“I see.”

He allowed the edge of the folder to drop to the surface of his desk before laying it flat. Had he been given the choice, he would have directed his own division to brave the Dangai, considering his men were more spiritually robust and seasoned. However, he had the responsibility and resources of a noble to attend to the needs of Seireitei. His station required his attention during this crisis more than ever.

“And you said that Captain Zaraki is still recovering?”

“Ah? Yea. Apparently he’s still totally knocked out, sleeping like a baby.”

While the death of Yhwach had been confirmed, Soul Society was still in precarious condition. Without the Soul King, it meant the barest breath could do immense damage. The eleventh division had been charged with apprehending any remaining Quincy, but with their leadership out of commission, their efforts were scattered. More importantly, at this rate, the damage that Yhwach had done would become increasingly difficult to mitigate. The missing lieutenant nagged at him, her ephemeral presence at that battle like a bad omen.

He looked over the contents of his desk, considering. There had yet to be any word from his hell butterfly, which meant Central 46 was still in deliberations. While he understood the delay, it was still uncomfortable to remain in such unstable circumstances. His orders were to manage the supply logistics for the Gotei 13 during Seireitei’s recovery, making full use of his family’s prestigious wealth and connections. Despite this, there were things he could do without compromising his duty.

“I have something I need you to deliver.” Byakuya pulled together a short stack of folded letters he had penned earlier, and wound a loose twine around the bundle. “I would not ask you to handle such sensitive affairs, but the hell butterflies are insufficient for this task.” He held the corner of his sleeve and held the small bundle out for Renji to take.

“Letters?” Renji’s eyebrows disappeared under his bandana even as he turned the bundle over to see who they were addressed to.

“These must be delivered in person to the head of each of the noble houses.” Mouth quirked, Renji’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fortunately, you have a known reputation as my lieutenant and will not be turned away.”

Lifting the corner of the paper in front of him, he tugged it free from the paper weight and folded it beneath slim fingers. He used a small slip of paper to lift his wax block from its box and held the edge of it against the candle at his side. Sufficiently melted, he pressed it against the seam of the letter and placed it back. He slid open the drawer at his right and pulled out the Kuchiki stamp, squeezing it firmly against the drying wax. With a shallow breath, he whispered a Kidou seal over it and it solidified.

After a moment, he dragged his brush across the other side, cleanly writing out the recipient. Holding it up, he handed it to Renji. “This one, as well.”

Renji took it, mindful of the drying ink. He looked at it and bugged his eyes at Byakuya. “This says _Shiba_.”

“Indeed.”

“But, I thought they weren’t a noble house anymore after – ya know?” With a cringe, the letter got placed on the stack in his hand and he looked warily at Byakuya, uncertainty painted on his face.

He smoothed his sleeve back down his side before sliding the leather folio he had been looking at earlier to the empty spot in front of him. “They may no longer associate with the Gotei 13, and may no longer reside in Seireitei, but their lack of pride does not change their essential duty.” The notion that a vassal of the Soul King could somehow lose its nobility was preposterous. Even in death, with every last member gone, the house would live on, because what defined it were not the people, but their royal duty. A blade by any other name remained as such, and the same applied to the noble houses.

At Renji’s continued confusion, he elaborated, mild impatience starting to whittle at his edges. “Only a noble could possibly create the path to the royal palace.” Surely Renji should have realized at least that much. He took that road himself, well before it had been violated.

The moment of understanding was clear as dark eyes lifted up and widened, looking past the ceiling to an invisible point in the sky. His jaw dropped in dawning clarity. “ _Oh_. I thought they just liked blasting fireworks.”

How absurd. As if _any_ mere cannon shot could lead one to the palace. Even disregarding their primary purpose, the noble houses had far more important obligations than adding shine to festivities. That much should be obvious.

“It may take some time to find the Shiba household. They are a restless sort.” The light of the candle flickered, and he drew his eyes down to his work. “Rukongai is presently under the purview of the tenth division. I suggest you start there.”

“Got it.” Renji stuffed the letters in his shihakushou and straightened as he turned toward the door. “I’ll report to you when I get back!” With a rumble of heavy steps, he vanished around the corner, leaving Byakuya in peace once more. It reminded him of the thin vibration constantly humming in the air, like someone holding their breath.

The tremors rocking Soul Society were sparse and light, thanks to the tireless efforts of Captain Kurotsuchi and his division, but he expected no end to them in the foreseeable future. He had to do everything he could to protect Soul Society. This was his duty, not just as a captain of the Gotei 13, but as the leader of the Kuchiki clan. He allowed his eyes to slide half-shut, a whisper of memory floating past and only adding fuel to the uneasy feeling he had.

His candle flickered once more, prompting him to glance up and out his window. Like diamonds, a delicate collection of miniscule flakes began to float on the breeze, moving in lazy swirls and melting into mist even before reaching the sill. Each one shivered in the air, hardly heavy enough to succumb to gravity, and dotted the sky in slow-motion. Tugging his sleeves tighter to his side, he turned back to his work. He hadn’t realized the seasons were changing.


	3. Destination ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while, but I finally got the basic flow of this story in mind now, and even though I’m still working on some details, I can tag the pairing. My beta is still incommunicado though, so, hm. I might have to steer this ship solo. As I feared and totally expected, this thing turned into a slow burn, so I added that tag, too. /sigh I’ll do my best to move things along though, because this exposition is killing me.

This was an important task, she knew - one she had been putting off, the loss this war wrought still hammering in her chest. Hesitation dragged at her feet, but with the last of her division finally ready to depart, this was something she could no longer avoid. When she had announced she was heading to the Ugendou, Kiyone had sharply averted her eyes and made no motion to follow. She couldn’t blame her. Since that day, Kiyone had spoken hardly ten words, no doubt blaming herself for her inability to keep their captain from certain death. Her healing kidou was top-notch, but after reading the report, even Rukia knew that it had to have been futile to even try. That she did anyway was enough to at least nominally ease the ache pulsing in her heart.

The water was cold to the touch as Rukia dipped the tips of her fingers under the surface, and she watched the ripples radiate out, lazy and soft tracks meandering in concentric circles. It lacked all the warmth it once had, feeling empty and bereft of all life now that her captain was gone. Rukia pursed her lips and lifted her hand to rest on her knee. Despite her feeble hopes, it did not look to be getting any better. Most of Seireitei had been affected by the war, but somehow the garden of the thirteenth barracks stood relatively untouched, albeit not without equally serious casualty. The damage that had been done here was not the kind readily seen, but it was significant no less.

Her chin lifted and gazed across the surface of the pond, features tense with concern. There were only a handful of lily pads and lotus buds clinging to the corner of the gazebo, a last gasp of life from this once inviting place. She stood from her crouch and walked slowly down the bridge toward the place Captain Ukitake spent most of his time, pausing only momentarily to slide her hand across one of the beams at the entrance. It remained as she remembered – books stacked against the bench, an over-pruned bonsai in the corner, pillows leaned gently across a row of lattice, and slatted screen half-drawn to block the afternoon sun, their strings blowing gently in the breeze. Half-written manuscripts lay in a pile on the short table, pinned down by the weight of a dry ink block, and the sitting pillow remained dented from the familiar weight of folded legs. It looked as if Captain Ukitake had merely stepped out for a moment, the lingering presence stinging in her chest.

Stepping forward, she carefully maneuvered over a fallen tray and toppled cups dusted with dried tea powder, approaching the edge and pressing her palms against the rail. Even the breeze was biting cold, and she sighed, lowering herself to the floor and leaning over, glancing at the water quietly lapping at the gazebo posts. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached her arm out, fingers straining to reach. The first try failed, but after hooking an elbow around a post, she dropped further and brushed her finger across the delicate pink of the tightly furled bud.

Rukia smiled, momentarily enjoying the subtle whisper of softness before breathing out and pushing her reiatsu forward. It seemed to shiver against her, then slowly peeled open, threads of white shooting down the petals and stem and vanishing into the flat green of its leaves. A sparkle of reishi fluttered up, floating up and out, before finally shimmering down and dissolving into the water’s surface. She pulled her arm back just enough to see, watching intently.

The bloom uncurled slowly, taking its time to completely open, but as the last of its petals fell apart, the heart shuddered and unfurled blackened wings. Rukia breathed out a relieved sigh and reached out again, finger extended. Wobbling, the butterfly crawled over the flower and perched there, opening and closing its wings in an effort to dry.

With a grunt, Rukia heaved herself back to the floor of the gazebo, turning to rest against the rail. Only then did she finally allow herself to look at the newborn butterfly desperately clinging to her fingertip, a faint smile crossing her lips. It looked a little different than she expected, the flood of her reiatsu having bleached the lavender marks on its wings to a pale thistle, with veins of grey striping the body. That it had changed appearance made her a little sad, but she supposed it was worth it if the next batch of butterflies could survive this barren pond.

She tilted her head to look back over the rail, watching as the reishi seeds floated on the water’s surface, slowly spreading like frozen ice and latticing into the promise of another bloom. They were still just leaves for now, but if she kept at it, bit by bit, she could help these butterflies adapt to these frigid waters. With her captain no longer around to foster their growth, it fell on her to fill the gap he left behind. After enough time, she was sure the butterflies would return to normal once her division had the time, manpower, and spiritual reserves to encourage them, but it still felt odd to see.

Rukia returned her attention to the slow flap of the hell butterfly’s wings. “I wonder who I should give you to.”

Each division already had at least one, and a few had been dispersed to Central 46 and the Kidou Corps. The bare bone network had managed to be stitched together, and all that was left was to fortify it and fill the gaping holes. That would take hundreds of new hell butterflies, and that was still a far off feasibility. They were still precious few and far between, and should only be given to those who needed to be reached at a moment’s notice. A flash of color passed through her mind’s eye, and her gazed dropped in consideration.

Sucking in a breath and releasing a determined puff, she climbed to her feet. Rukia curled her hand around the butterfly, blowing warm air over its shivering wings. Bathed in warmth, its trembling stopped, and she took that moment to carefully card it into the fold of her shihakushou. With a quick turn, she padded down the bridge, only stepping into shunpo once she was clear. Barely a ripple disturbed the lake in her wake.

She landed atop a crumbling Quincy style roof, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. Everything was so jumbled and torn up, trying to navigate this mess was enough to induce a headache. Her eyes stopped over the billowing white flag boldly displaying the insignia of the fourth, brandished in the highest possible point, and using it as a reference point, she made a fast path toward the Blue Stream gate in the east.

Skidding to a stop, Rukia hopped off the tapering edge of one of the outer court walls and landed on a toe. The bustling figures of shinigami moving back and forth through the archway clogged the path, so she had to hedge her way past a particularly large wagon wheeling burlap sacks piled to the brim. Once clear, she jogged toward the temporary barracks her division had built from tents and borrowed buildings. It was crowded in the open, and she weaved her way through, looking for a tall head of blond.

“Captain Ootoribashi!”

He started at her sudden call, but turned and lifted an arm in beckon. The crowd parted a bit for her, and she finished jogging toward him, slightly out of breath.

“Lieutenant Kuchiki,” he greeted.

“I apologize for the delay.” She straightened, carefully tugging at her lapels. “I had to tend to the hell butterflies first. Considering how unstable the Dangai is, I wasn’t sure how long we would be gone. I fed them some of my reiatsu so they can at least handle the winter. It is fortunate I have an ice-based zanpakutou.”

Rukia had never before associated with the new captain of the third division outside of passing battlefield circumstance. Despite her fleeting encounters with the man in the past giving her mixed thoughts about his hollowfication, he was actually a pleasant captain to speak to. He smiled, his hair tumbling over a cheek at the slight tilt of his head, hand rising and swooping to the side in a wide dismissive motion. “Everyone has to do what they can to help everyone right now, and everyone is doing their very best with what they can. A small delay is hardly worth fretting over. Only together can we all rise in chorus and stand against this adversity.”

Even if he was rather florid in speech.

Still, she smiled, not necessarily disliking his antics. “Thank you again for your assistance.” Glancing around, she noticed the excursion groups sectioned off, ready for their turn to go. The shinigami from the third were tugging their equipment over their wrists, and making last-minutes checks. “I did not have the time, so can you please deliver this for me?” Sliding her fingers into her shihakushou, she carefully pulled out the butterfly she had stowed earlier. Its wings fluttered in agitation before settling on the tip of her finger.

“Oh, resplendent! Who is the lucky recipient?”

Her grin was crooked, but a bit embarrassed. “Ichigo.” His eyes flit from admiring the oddly colored butterfly back to her face, eyebrows raised. “I know he’s not a part of the Gotei 13, but he should be able to be reached in case anyone of us needs his help. I do not exactly expect there to be any trouble with the Quincy that we cannot handle, but he is the only one in Soul Society who is out of contact. With his shinigami substitute pass broken, this is the only way to get in touch.” She pressed her finger forward, and the butterfly walked from hers to Captain Ootoribashi’s. He lifted it and smiled at its unique patterns. “As a lieutenant, I don’t have the full authority to just give it to him, but as you are one of the senior captains, I would be indebted to you if you would do this.”

His hand twisted as he continued to admire the oddity. “We owe him a very great debt. I see little wrong with giving him such a lovely gift.”

“It’s not a gift!” Rukia clacked her teeth shut, and recalling her manners, coughed away her kneejerk response. “It would be useful for him to be available on short notice. He tends to foolishly rush headlong into things blindly, and at least this way we can keep him apprised. I am sure he is eager for word from the human world, as well. I plan to give him a report on his family as soon as my duties permit.”

Neither pointed out that such communication might not be possible at that point. No reports had come from any of the teams sent through the Dangai yet.

“I just finished briefing my squad leaders on their rotation schedules and was about to return to my barracks anyway. I will drop it off on my way.”

Rukia breathed a faint sigh of relief before bowing her head. “You have my gratitude, Captain Ootoribashi.”

Lifting the butterfly to his nose and smiling at her sideways, he shrugged off her gratitude. “My given name has no stage presence. Call me Rose if you like. Any friend of his is mine as well.”

Face split in a wide grin she lifted her head. “I will be on my way now. Thank you again, Captain Rose.” Arm held high, she trotted past him to the waiting men, ready to tackle the dangers ahead with a lighter heart, and with conviction in her voice, she commanded them. “Alright you fools, let’s go!”

A roar of solidarity resounded in response, sparking a smile and carrying her feet ever forward.

* * *

Dawn was the worst possible time to be awake, even on the best of days. If the sun hadn’t risen yet, there were only two reasons to be conscious – either work was so overwhelming that sleep wasn’t an option, or it meant that schedules were running tight. Renji scrubbed his fingers down his face, tugging at his eyelids and hoping to dispel the heavy weight there. Both probably applied in this case.

The errand has started simply enough. The first place he went to was the ruins of the Shihoin estate, nestled high and intertwined with a Quincy castle that made it look like two vastly different architects had an overblown argument about the appropriate way to express _stupidly wealthy_. Its proximity to the outer rim of Seireitei and relative distance from the Gotei 13 barracks spared it most of the damage from the skirmishes that tore up the rest of the area. The worst part of that entire delivery was probably the climb, the sheer amount of stairs on par with the number leading up to Soukyoku Hill. Handing over the letter was easy, and from the unsurprised look on Lord Yuushirou’s face, he’d been expecting it, tucking the document in his sash without looking and instead bombarding Renji with questions about the whereabouts of his sister.

He only managed to muscle his way down the stairs after eating dinner and regaling every last detail he could remember of any and all experience he had the dubious pleasure of spending with Yoruichi. And he thought his captain was bad about Rukia. The food was good, at least.

It was a little harder finding the other two estates, but even though one had relocated, it was a simple task of asking around to point him in the right direction. By the time he’d finished running around, it was already too late to even be called night anymore, and his last recipient had even snapped at him for interrupting much needed sleep – no matter that Renji himself had been up all night. That haughty countenance changed after seeing the letter he had, but Renji was still kind of agitated that he got no apology from the very snappish and public reaming that woke everyone within a mile radius. He felt sorry for the retainers who had to live with that.

All that was left after an exhausting night was to drag himself through the dense ring of camps and cordoned off areas occupied by the slumbering day troops of Gotei 13, making a path through the first district to where he knew division ten had set up their operations. Winding paths were blocked off by hastily constructed barriers made of chopped trees, making navigation a minor headache. The sky had turned that quasi-blue grey mash of nowhere color, casting everything in monochromatic definition. Renji kind of wished he had thought to bring along a pack of rice balls to snack on.

When he finally hauled his feet up to the wooden panel door of the temporary division headquarters, stomach twisting with hunger, eyes heavy as lead, legs burning from all the running around, and exhaustion biting at his shoulders, he probably painted a sad picture. While he knew things were very busy since the entire fiasco with Yhwach started, the aftermath was perhaps worse. What he did not expect was getting greeted by a chirpy and energetic lieutenant, bouncing down the hall like the war had never happened.

“Renji! What brings you here so early in the morning?” She paused a short distance from him and gave him a full body once over, raising a thin eyebrow. “You look terrible.”

The final strap of his sandals came undone and he hopped up the genkan step, swiveling his head as he trudged forward, looking for what might be the captain’s office. “Yea, well, it’s been a long night. Where can I sit? I’m beat.”

Rangiku grinned, waving a hand for him to follow. “This place used to be for boarding, so there isn’t much in the way of furniture, but you can use one of the chairs we have in the office.”

His feet nearly dragged as he followed her, the promise of an actual chair much more appealing to his aching legs than just a sitting pillow. “You’re up early.” Renji squinted at her bubbly humming and vibrant complexion. She didn’t look like she’d stayed up all night either. “Got something going on today?”

“Mm, nope, nothing out of the ordinary. Why do you ask?”

He didn’t really peg Rangiku as a _morning_ person. “Uh, you just seem… in a good mood.”

“Well, I got a restful night of sleep for the first time in _ages_.” She opened a door to a dusty room filled with boxes, each snugly stacked next to each other. Her eyes twinkled as she looked over her shoulder, evidently picking up on Renji’s dubious reaction, eyes shifting back and forth between her and the tidy stacks. There was no way she could have managed that by herself. She was notorious about her penchant for putting off paperwork.

Instead, he craned his neck, looking for a splash of white hair amidst the nooks and crannies. When he came up short, he frowned. He was probably sleeping off this mountain of work. “Ya shouldn’t overwork Captain Hitsugaya like that. He was in the same battle as Captain Kuchiki, so I know this ain’t the best for his health.”

She lifted a hand to her mouth, eyebrows raised and muffling a mischievous chortle. “Oho, I’ll have to let him know how popular he is.”

Renji didn’t have the energy to summon a dirty look, instead zeroing in on the chair and slumping into its sturdy embrace. “You better not – I wouldn’t wanna be a part of your heckling. You should just let him rest already.” Flashbacks of frozen steel and scattered silver flitted through his mind. His own captain shouldn’t be working either, which is why Renji had been trying to do as much of it himself as he could manage. He thought Rangiku would be the same, since she respected her captain as much as he respected his.

She put a swift jab into his shoulder and he grunted, grabbing his arm in surprise and looked up at her pinched face. She looked honestly offended. “Of course I’m letting him rest! I _am_ his lieutenant, and can conquer a pile of papers when I have to.”

Renji rubbed at his shoulder, sulking a little and feeling a little guilty. His eyes drifted to the side, wincing a bit. “Ah.”

“What brings you here, anyway? If there was something important you had to talk to me about, you could have just used the hell butterflies.” Her eyes were bright and expectant, previous insult already washed from her face.

The weight of the letter still sitting in his shihakushou seemed to increase. Renji scrubbed at his neck, feeling his energy levels drain at an alarming rate now that he was off his feet. “Delivery. It was suggested that I drop by to see if you guys had any information regarding the current location of the Shiba clan.”

Rangiku’s features dropped slightly, shoulders sagging a bit. “Shiba, huh?” Straightening after a moment, she drew a finger to her lip and focused on the ceiling. “… Nope, can’t say that I’ve heard anything.” The lilt of her voice sounded uncharacteristically strained. Her eyes stayed on the ceiling for a while longer, before dropping down to consider him, the pad of her finger still pressing into the side of her lower lip. It made sweat bead on the nape of his neck, because he knew that look, and it meant she was _thinking_. Very slowly, she smiled.

Renji reflexively slunk backwards and into the chair. Why were women always so terrifying?

“But I know someone who might be able to help.”

Pinching his arm with unexpected force, she pulled him out of the chair and dragged him behind her through hallways and doors, barely giving him a chance to put his sandals back on. When Renji asked where they were going, she merely pushed her hair behind an ear and mentioned surprises around a coy grin. A heavy stone was settling in his gut, but he had little choice but to follow, the grip on his wrist like iron. Skipping across the street, she let herself into another building like she owned the place and marched with purpose down the hall.

“Captain~” Rangiku’s sing-song call rang through the air as she finally released him and slid open a door, wide smile on her face. Two heads bobbed up simultaneously and Renji’s feet froze in place, the half-formed thought to scold Rangiku for bothering her captain vanishing at the sight.

Captain Hitsugaya had a piece of toast pinched between his fingers, smeared with something that looked like bean paste and perched halfway to his mouth. Teal eyes narrowed at her intrusion and a flicker of annoyance curled over his features. “Matsumoto, it’s too early in the morning for this.” His eyes swept past her to glance at Renji for a moment before narrowing back at Rangiku.

Seated across from him with his legs and arms crossed, however, was someone Renji was totally not expecting to see. “You’re Ichigo’s old man,” he blurted.

Rangiku giggled at his side before brushing past the doorway and carelessly flopped her arms around her captain’s head, her breasts nearly forcing his face into the table’s surface. “Oh, you’re looking better!”

A muffled and unintelligible response was all Hitsugaya could manage before he used his arms to shove himself away from the table with a deep gasp and made Rangiku draw back with her hands raised. An unrepentant grin was plastered on her lips, apparently immune to the frigid glare he was shooting her way. “You _do_ know I’m injured, right?”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure!”

“ _Matsumoto_.”

Kurosaki rumbled out a low laugh, looking for all intents and purposes unphased by the rambunctious display. Renji continued to stand there stupefied, because _what the hell_. “Uh.”

“Come on Renji, don’t just stand there, come in!”

He managed to steer his feet forward, still stewing in confusion as he lowered to a spot by the table. Hitsugaya closed his eyes and heaved out a sigh that sounded like it had the weight of the world in it. “Do you know what you’re doing, Matsumoto?”

She waved her hand dismissively, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Oh, it’s fine, captain!”

That made Hitsugaya open his eyes and look over to Kurosaki. The responding smile was so full of _something_ that Renji found himself gawking. It felt fond and sad, thankful and exasperated, and – _oh_. It looked very much like the ones he occasionally saw on Ichigo’s face. The ones that said _it’s okay_. But why he would be expressing that sort of familiarity to Hitsugaya he didn’t know.

Hitsugaya, breathing out a slow sigh, seemed to lean further back in some unspoken acquiescence. His hand placed the remains of his smashed breakfast on the plate in front of him and rested his palm flat on the table, turning his full attention to Renji. Despite himself, he straightened his back, not quite sure what to expect. “Abarai, let me introduce you.” Renji blinked, because he already knew who Kurosaki’s dad was, and was pretty sure Hitsugaya was aware of that. What the hell was he doing in a shihakushou though? “This is former captain of the tenth division,” and here his eyes lifted, pinning him with a piercing stare. “Shiba Isshin.”

Oh. Well. Damn.

* * *

Grimmjow spat out the grisly chunk of plated armor between his teeth and dispassionately watched it roll to a stop, coated with uneven ripples of discolored sand. At his side, his victim howled, rolling in agony and clutching at the gaping wound where half its mask used to be. Around him, the adjuchas he’d been fighting with all took a half-step back, then another. Tch. They should have wisened up a hell of a lot sooner, or they wouldn’t have had to get on his bad side.

Driving home his point, he crunched the heel of his foot over the bloody mask fragment below him and it gave a satisfying crack. “Done yet? Piss off before I fuck the rest of you up,” he grated out through his teeth. With at least a sliver more sense than they had shown at the beginning, they backed off several more careful steps, eyes still trained on him. Grimmjow shoved his chin forward, eyes wild and impatient at their hesitation. “ _Ah?_ ”

At his prompt, they twisted and kicked up a wake of sand in their retreat causing him to snort harshly through his nose. The hollow at his side was still sniveling, but at least trying to scratch some distance between them. Fucking pathetic. He ignored it and spat again, clearing the blood from his mouth and raised his arm to smear it across his sleeve. His hands were filthy and he scrubbed his palms across his thighs in a vain effort to clean off the grime. Red still spackled the wrinkles of his knuckles, blackish crimson filling the gaps around his nails. He still felt sticky, and he debated rubbing his hands in the sand.

Fighting regular hollows was hardly his idea of fun, not even worth drawing his Pantera for, but it gave him something to do. More disappointing than anything, it seemed like no matter which group attacked they all had the same disregard for the consequences of pissing off someone so clearly out of their league. He was familiar with their unchecked hunger, but he was never that insanely stupid. Even he knew better than to directly challenge someone with all the cards stacked in their favor.

He scowled as the image of Aizen’s back floated past his memories. Another stomp made the mask crack completely in half, and he ground his teeth. Whatever. That shit stain was out of his hair.

“Well done, Grimmjow-san!” His chin lifted and he looked over his shoulder at the approaching trio with narrowed eyes. The woman was carrying the sleeping midget on her back, while Urahara was giving a modest applause, face spread with a toothy grin.

Nel had not turned back to an adult yet, and he wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t done much of anything during their short time in the soul king’s palace, and while she had been battle-worn from the conflict in Hueco Mundo prior to that, there shouldn’t have been any reason for her to voluntarily remain in such a vulnerable state. On top of that, she still fawned all over Urahara, like he was made of glass. He made some sort of trinket to control her reiatsu enough to give her the ability to revert to her adult form, but Grimmjow was starting to suspect it was either broken or deliberately sabotaged. Nel’s strange brand of naiveté just made him distrust the pair even more.

Still, they had made some steady progress across the sands, and Las Noches was looming above them. He doubted there would be any more hollows to contend with now that they were so close to where the Quincy had taken root in Hueco Mundo. Stirring shit up with his travelling companions wasn’t something he was looking to do, so he disregarded the empty praise and looked up at the imposing walls of Las Noches instead, stepping ahead to keep his distance. Urahara unsettled him to a certain degree, and his over-polite façade grated on already frazzled nerves. Grimmjow wanted all this tedium to end already so he could move on to other things.

Nameless impatience simmered in his chest. Ever since waking back up in Hueco Mundo, he’d been on edge, and not because of the company he had to endure or the tremors that made his teeth chatter. Things felt undone. Urahara had made assurances of the Quincy king’s death, but all Grimmjow remembered of their invasion was a fleeting greeting, one cowardly enemy, and a shit ton of running. Askin was certainly a hard kill, but in the really annoying way. He ran away too much, never faced his opponent head on, showed his back as he fled, wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and relied on nasty tricks at the end of the day. The fucker wouldn’t even die right. He fought dirty, and Grimmjow took little joy in that fight. Before he knew it, the war was supposed to be over, and he was trapped back in Hueco Mundo without further ado. He didn’t even get to see the face of the one who caused this whole damn mess. The hell kind of pathetic end was that? His jaw ached. He’d wanted something more. He’d wanted… Shit, he didn’t know what he wanted. Just – more.

Fighting starving adjuchas in Hueco Mundo certainly wasn’t it. If anything, he supposed, he was at least looking forward to his old room in Las Noches and a scalding bath.

Grimmjow flinched as a streak of blue lightning seared across his cheek, nicking his ear and burning his hair before embedding into the ground with a sizzle of dissolving reishi. His eyes locked onto where it had erupted from and let out a slow breath, the pounding pulse of his face just beginning to register, and a hot tickle started to trace down his neck. That _hurt_.

A tingle wormed its way up his thighs and it lifted him to the balls of his feet into a ready stance, instinct rearing his pesquisa sense to life. Pantera thrummed at his side and he spread his fingers wide, carving into the air with as much sharpness as his grin. Now _this_ was something he could get into. The hollows were hardly worth his time, and the arrancar were all complacent, but the Quincy – they were poison, absolute trash that deserved equal parts eradication and annihilation. Everything was jacked up because of them, and he had a bone to pick. He was fucking frustrated, and he didn’t know why, but he was going to take it out on anyone who dared point their weapon at him.

“Grimmjow!” The sharp and vaguely concerned yell at his back went ignored, his sights set on a target with marginally more threat attached.

Sonido thundered the air behind him as he bolted forward, grin stretching as he saw the Quincy’s eyes widen in abject shock. These losers probably only ever met the stray dogs wandering outside the walls of Las Noches, ignorant to the true terrors of Hueco Mundo. Yea, he was no ordinary hollow, no ordinary arrancar. He was an _Espada_ , and the wrong man to mess with.

His first attack was enough to completely crush his assailant’s windpipe and he might have spent the effort to rip it out if he didn’t have other things to worry about. Letting go instead, the Quincy dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks at his feet. Before the man could even finish falling, he slammed a knee into the equally surprised face of the Quincy’s comrade at his right. There wasn’t even time for him to cry out, and it was over before he even recognized his fate. No matter though, because there were many more waiting in the crag of tunneled rock and carved out sniper windows riddling the wall.

He jumped back to avoid a hail of arrows, and had to suppress another snort because _god_ , what tiny little barbs, they were almost adorable. Grimmjow was almost tempted to stand still just to see if they would make it through his hierro, but he was no idiot, and he knew the Quincy attacks were especially lethal to his kind. The rise of reiatsu at his left made him look, and he saw the dark-haired woman flying through the air with familiar feline grace, blitzing behind a painfully slow Quincy huddled behind one of the rock archways and slamming a stiff backhand into his neck in the same breath. He crumpled in a limp pile, and Grimmjow had to scoff at her soft approach.

It was this distraction that cost him.

The reishi arrows he had dodged earlier suddenly pulled up and out of the sand, nailing the back of his leg as they flew back toward the Quincy that had fired them. He growled, snatching his hand out to grab them before they could get out of reach. It burned against his hierro and he could feel his blood boiling to the surface, but he didn’t care, because this was something he hadn’t seen before. Quincy arrows were supposed to dissolve once spent, not - Blue eyes narrowed at his hand, finally registering the thin thread of reishi tied to the end. Before thinking about it, he swung his arm back and felt immensely gratified to hear the startled yelp as a tall man came hurtling out of his hiding spot and slamming into a rock or two on his way to the ground.

Another arrow flew at him, and he used his momentum to pivot on his good leg and kick it aside with a reiatsu fortified heel. Grimmjow dropped the brand in his hand and raced forward again, new prey in sight with a laugh on his breath. Bring it! Tangling his fingers into dark hair, he slammed the man’s ear into the nearest solid surface he could find.

The flurry at the edge of his senses told him that he wasn’t the only one dropping the Quincy like flies. This wasn’t supposed to be how they broke their way into Las Noches, but hell, he wasn’t really one for the subtle approach anyway. Lifting his bloody hand, he barked out another laugh. He would take care of these gnats and make themselves a hole to crawl into the city all at the same time. Gripping his forearm with his other hand, he flooded his reiatsu forward and _squeezed_.

All of a sudden green was in his face, arm pinned between something soft and strong, and the edge of his grin faltered, the spritz of cerulean energy fading in a bright spark as the constricting presence around his arm turned painful. His mouth twisted into a pained grimace and he glared murder. “The fuck you doin’.”

Dark eyes lifted to regard him, thick brows drawn down as Nelliel fearlessly stared him down. “You can’t fire Gran Rey Cero.”

“The hell I can’t!” He tugged at his arm and shoved at her shoulder, scowl growing as her grip tightened and caused him to stumble from her weight. Her chest was soft, but he could feel the bite of her nails into his skin. Of all times for her to grow up -!

“We can’t take on all of the Quincy by ourselves, and blowing a hole in the wall will only tell them where we are. Have you forgotten why we’re here?”

Grimmjow clenched his fist with a growl, dousing the energy he had been building there. “Let go of me,” he snarled. They jumped apart when a torrent of arrows flew their way, the whisper of Nelliel’s feet silent on the sands. She only spared him one more indescribable look before slipping into Sonido and taking out several Quincy huddled together.

Teeth grinding, Grimmjow tore back into the fray, seeking out the elation she had so ruthlessly crushed. By the end of the skirmish, more than sixty Quincy lay in piles on the ground, and he was no closer to snuffing out his black mood. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction clawing at his insides. The blood on his hands felt cold and airy, no weight to it at all.

What the fuck?

All this pussyfooting around and all these small fry were doing nothing to quell the agitation festering in his chest. A neglected Pantera throbbed on his hip, and he could practically _feel_ the rust growing there. This was Hueco Mundo, realm of the hollows, a land of eternal night and endless fighting. He belonged here, this was where he could cut loose and do whatever the hell he wanted. So why the fuck was he so fucking _agitated?_

Grimmjow scowled darkly at the carnage. Hunger gnawed at his soul and the blue of his eyes _burned_.


	4. As the day breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why you fight me? /tosses table … /regrets and rubs back
> 
> I had all kinds of trouble writing this chapter. I think it’s because I want to hurry up and get to the next part, haha.

Of all the people to drop by and visit, he wasn’t expecting Rose. They weren’t particularly close, despite their history. They had only crossed swords during his training all those years ago to try and muzzle Zangetsu’s raw hollow urges, and they hardly spoke between those bouts, Shinji or Hiyori usually the ones to lean into his personal space and demand attention. Rose was more of an old acquaintance than a friend, so his presence immediately made him question if something was wrong.

“Hey, what’s up?” Ichigo clambered to his feet, anxiety starting to bubble up his throat and vague worries about Shinji taking form in the recesses of his mind.

Instead of answering, Rose tilted to the side to peer around him at the trio huddled around the low table. Plain disappointment flashed over his face and he straightened with a hunch coloring his shoulders. He looked honestly dejected. “I had heard you had brought reading materials from the human world, but it looks to be only textbooks. I was hoping you might have some manga I could borrow.”

He felt the tension between his shoulder blades melt. Manga. Right. Well, that was a fair enough reason to drop by, he guessed. Being cooped up in Soul Society was really starting to take its toll if he was imagining every little thing to be a sign of trouble.

Half-turning, Ichigo looked over his shoulder at the spread of homework that had consumed the entire surface. Even if he had any inclination to join in his friends’ studious endeavors, he doubted there would have been any room for him amidst that mess. Ishida peered up at Rose with a cocked eyebrow that made him look thoroughly unimpressed with that presumption.

Ichigo grinned tight and controlled, mildly envious that his friends had adjusted to the aftermath so well. Things were hardly back to normal for him, stuck in a kind of post-battle haze that just seemed to linger with each moment he stayed there. It felt like there was still something that needed to be done, and he couldn’t relax until he got home, snug in his own body. Not completely.

A rueful sort of chuckle fleetingly echoed against the inside of his skull – the first sign of any from his inner world since that last battle. It caught him off guard and forced out an aborted laugh that sounded more like a choke. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? Rose brought his attention back on him, confused concern creasing his brow. His hand lifted and he coughed to clear his throat, trying to salvage a small bit of his bruised dignity.

“Sorry. It wasn’t like we knew we’d be sticking around, and we didn’t exactly have time to pack either.” This was completely ignoring how oddly prepared Ishida and Inoue seemed to be, but his friends were always weird.

Rose returned to his full height and shrugged. “It was only a small hope, anyhow.”

Ichigo sighed and pushed Zangetsu into his spot at his back, somewhat conscious of the fact he’d not done so the first moment he stood. Offhand, he wondered if he’d ever manage to seal his sword to a manageable size. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it’s already kind of crowded. I’ll stand, if you want to sit?”

“Oh no, no.” Rose swished his hand in the air, the ruffles of his sleeve rustling as he did. “I won’t be here that long. I just came to give you something.”

“Give me something?”

His back straightened, curious. Rose smiled, pressing his fingers against his chest and puffing it out. “It’s a small token, but while I would like to take the credit, this is from our mutual friend, Lieutenant Rukia.”

“Rukia?” He kind of missed her. She hadn’t had the chance to come by and visit him, nor had Renji, but he surmised they had all kinds of things to do considering the mess Soul Society was in.

Slim fingers pressed between the folds of his kosode and slowly withdrew. He uncurled his hand in front of Ichigo’s face, bearing the weightless burden of a black butterfly. It shook its wings, flapping a few times before settling still in the middle of Rose’s palm. Ichigo stared. Blinked. Looked up at Rose, who had a tiny smirk dancing in the corner of his mouth.

“Isn’t that a hell butterfly? Does this mean the Senkaimon is fixed? I thought I wasn’t allowed to have one, since I was just a substitute shinigami?”

Rose reached out to grab Ichigo’s wrist and lifted it, encouraging the butterfly to switch hands. “Normally that is the case, however these are not normal circumstances. The Senkaimon is still far from being repaired, but there are other uses a hell butterfly has than acting as a guide. You are our guest here, in Soul Society, but you are also a valued comrade. While you are here, you deserve to be counted among us.”

“Oh, it’s so pretty!” Inoue crawled forward with wide eyes, hopping to her feet and practically pressing her face into Ichigo’s hand. “I’ve never had the chance to see one so close!”

It was indeed unusual, and Ichigo was a bit surprised how different it looked from what he remembered of Rukia and Renji’s. “How’s it work?”

Rose perched a hand on his hip. “This little guy is still not assigned, so you’ll need to get it to imprint on you first. To do that, you’ll have to give it a little taste of your blood. It doesn’t take much, just a drop will do. Once that’s done, it will be able to find you wherever you may go. You’re familiar with spirit ribbons, yes?”

Ichigo nodded. “I’ve used them to track people down.” He wasn’t very good about it, but he had managed to find the ribbons of people he needed to in times of crisis.

Lifting up his fingers in the air, Rose explained while whirling his hands in an alternating circular pattern. “Well, if you can focus on the spirit ribbon or ribbons of who you need to contact, it creates a reishi resonance between you that you can communicate through, like waves coming together to make harmony,” and here he drew the point of his fingers together. “But you both need a butterfly for it to work. Communicating across worlds is much trickier, but as long as you can strongly visualize who you’re contacting, it should still go through. It’s sort of like a cellphone, but more private. If you’re really good at it, you can even communicate without speaking out loud. That takes years of practice though, and you have to have a knack for it. The only real disadvantage is that you’re limited to people you know, but I don’t think that will be a problem for you since you’re not an official shinigami.”

So basically, that meant he wasn’t really expected to call anyone, it was more that he needed to be “available”. Well, if this was something coming from Rukia, then it probably wouldn’t be too bad. Unspoken caveats about unsolicited gifts aside, it sounded useful.

He hummed in interest, turning his hand to inspect the insect’s body. It looked completely organic as far as he could tell. It was hard to imagine just how it managed to function, but half the things he’d encountered since becoming a shinigami defied traditional logic.

“Aside from that, it also has the ability to independently sense both pluses and hollows in the human world. They aren’t very good at locating them, but they are sensitive to their presence because they disrupt the balance. They ring out when one is nearby, letting their shinigami know there is a disturbance worth looking at. You’ve probably heard it in the past.”

“Yea. When I first met Rukia, her butterfly was the first thing I saw, and it was chiming. It must have been reacting to the hollow that attacked my sisters. How do I -” he hesitated, not sure what word to use. “- care for it?”

Rose chuckled, dropping his hands back to his side. “It feeds off ambient reishi, and will shelter in your shadow. You don’t have to do anything in particular.” Well, that was easy enough.

Ichigo pulled Zangetsu from his back, slicing its edge against his finger and drawing a bead of blood to the surface. As if sensing it, the butterfly crawled along his palm to his outstretched finger and started drinking. God, that was weird - and actually kind of creepy. He sheathed his sword again, watching as it fed. After a moment, it shifted and seemed to shudder and settle, flapping its wings twice before stilling. “Is that it?”

“Like I said, it really doesn’t take much.” Ichigo nudged the butterfly to his other hand, and held out his fingers while Inoue healed the cut. Rose blinked at her. “Oh right, you’re that girl who can reject wounds, aren’t you? Hachi’s friend?”

She smiled and nodded. “It’s been a while. I hope you’re doing alright?”

Rose hummed and looked up in thought, a hand smoothing carefully over his stomach, ghosting over what must have been a wound he received. “Considering everything, I’m just glad I survived. Rather a bit sore, but I can’t fault our healers for that.”

“If you want, I can help? I’ve rested this whole time, so it’s really no bother at all.” He dropped his gaze, peering down at the concerned slant of her eyes. His lips parted and hesitated for a moment.

Rose smiled then, dropping his hand. “It’s no bother to me, but we could better use someone of your skillset to help heal some of our most critically injured instead. My lieutenant is among those, so you would actually be doing me a favor.”

That caught Ichigo’s attention and his head whipped up, jostling the butterfly and sending it into the air. Ichigo allowed his arm to fall back to his side, figuring if the thing wanted to fly or land somewhere else was its choice. “Hey, is there anything I can do?” He heard Ishida shuffle paper behind him, but ignored the impatient huff. If Inoue could go out, so could he, damn it.

He must have been too intense, because Rose leaned back, lifting both hands to form a barrier between them. Ichigo eased up, but continued to stare. Rose sighed, and seemed to consider him for a while. “Well, there really aren’t any orders to hold you in one place. As long as you remain in Soul Society, I suppose it technically does not restrict you from moving around. I don’t want to get on Captain-Commander Kyouraku’s bad side though. He’s actually a pretty scary man, you know.”

That translated to _stay out of trouble_ , and before thinking about it, Ichigo snorted, a wide smile spreading over his lips. “I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”

Inoue clapped her hands together, face bright and eager. “That’s great! I’m sure there’s something we can all do to help while we’re here!”

Rose’s lips quirked a moment before he glanced up to the seated pair, smile fading. “I can’t say the same for your Quincy friend, though. I think it best he stay here.”

Her face fell as she turned. “Ishida-kun…”

An awkward silence descended on the room, layers of _war_ and _Quincy_ and _enemy_ and _betrayal_ floating in the air. Ichigo turned to look at him as well, a picture perfect image of disinterest, were it not for the faint clench of his jaw. Ishida placed his pen down and lifted his chin. “I agree.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m no friend to the shinigami. You should definitely go ahead - your abilities are the most useful in times like these.”

Inoue’s hands loosened and she allowed them to drop back to her sides. “Don’t worry.” Chad gave her a small smile from where he still sat at the side of the table. “I’ll keep him company.”

When she still looked hesitant, he had to internally sigh. She had gotten much stronger over the years, gained physical and mental fortitude, and he admired her courage to face the same dangers they all did, but she was still timid about certain things. Tilting his chin, he adopted a light tone in the hopes of dispelling her concern. “The Quincy just waged a war here. I’m sure he’s the very last person anyone wants to see right now.”

Understanding settled on her features at the same moment her shoulders dropped. This wasn’t to leave him out, it was to protect both him and anyone he came across. Tempers were probably running high, and there was no telling if anyone saw him and attacked without confirming who he was. Right now, the Quincy were the most hated and wanted in Soul Society. Inoue had to realize that. Despite Ishida’s brusque disregard for the shinigami, he knew that he likely didn’t want to have to hurt anyone, even if it was just a misunderstanding or out of self-defense.

Her lips pressed together as she tried and failed to form an appropriate response. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Ishida-kun.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, and for a very brief moment, Ichigo wondered if Ishida was as weak to Inoue’s boundless compassion as he was to Yuzu’s infallible support. She had a light to her that could buffer the harsh realities of war. Ishida may have donned a stoic demeanor, but he knew he had to be uniquely suffering from everything that happened. The Quincy were his people, his heritage. His tight-lipped refusal to explain the details of that last arrow he had shot at Yhwach was evidence enough. Inoue could make people smile though, so he was glad she was there.

As if to dispel the mood, Rose clapped his hands. “Well, I guess that’s settled.”

“Right,” Ichigo found himself grinning. “Where can I start?”

* * *

The uncomfortable burn of eyes staring holes in his back remained an ever present reminder of the lieutenant following his slow progress through the streets of Rukongai. Renji hadn’t said much the entire time, apparently content to watch the flapping scraps of his retired haori pinned to his shoulder.

Toushirou hadn’t said much beyond that initial introduction, merely insisting that Renji keep it to himself. Apparently, he had dropped by because he needed to know where the Shiba clan had moved to, and Rangiku had gotten it into her head that Isshin would be the perfect guide – no doubt minor revenge for his extended absence. Honestly, he was hoping to put off going home for at least a little longer, but it looked like that just wasn’t meant to be. They had left shortly thereafter, Renji trailing behind like a looming red shadow full of questions and curiosity.

Isshin lifted a hand and scratched his neck. He didn’t really think it necessary to explain the detail of his history, and figured if Renji really wanted to know, he’d ask. Isshin didn’t know if he should be the one to answer, or if he should leave that kind of talk to Ichigo. Mostly, he didn’t want to overcomplicate things any more than they already were. If he was lucky, maybe Renji wouldn’t ask anything at all and just forget about it. As it stood, he wouldn’t volunteer anything, because the less Renji learned the better. With the state Soul Society was in, dragging him into his family issues would be cause for even more trouble.

He still had something he had to do. Regardless of Ichigo’s friend, he had to deal with the problem thrust into his lap, and in order to do that, he had to face his family.

His feet came to a stop and he lifted his head.

There was something to be said about the unique style of the Shiba clan. It was bold, unforgettable, manly, and evoked a sense of strength. Isshin grinned in spite of himself, familiar stirrings of excitement from days long gone threatening to overcome his uncomfortable reasons for coming there. The building stood tall and lonely, a reminder of things he didn’t want to learn the details of. He glanced to his side. Renji had paused a few paces back, an odd twist to his eyebrows, and gaze stuck on the banner hanging high in the air.

“You’re shittin’ me. Uh, sir.”

Isshin just laughed and continued forward. Stepping up the stairs, he waltzed through the plaza and was about to go inside when a foot was coursing straight for his face.

“ _Shinigami!_ ”

He dodged it of course, but that caused it to fly past and land in Renji’s instead.

“What thkk-” His pained squawk as he dropped to the ground, air whooshing from his chest, resembled a dying baboon, and Isshin skipped a few steps to the side, hopping over the sweeping leg that had appeared behind him.

It was really nice to know some things never changed.

Renji grunted sharply as his first assailant used his torso as a springboard to launch back, elbow raised high and aiming for his ribs. Isshin turned, pushing the arm aside, and shoved his own into a wide open back, before shuffling several more steps sideways to dodge another kick aimed at his legs.

Isshin grinned, snatching his hand out to grab an ankle to stop the onslaught. Eyes widening before him, he felt the way tense muscles momentarily stuttered.

“Y-you’re -!”

“Yo,” he replied with deep amusement. He then yanked the ankle back and dragged the man face down into the ground, pulling an arm up and pinning it beneath his thigh. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he raised his head as another attack charged at him.

“Wait!” The man under him tried to give out a warning, but his voice was too muffled, cheek pressed into the dirt.

There was a loud bang as the door slammed open, and that was the scene he presented. Sitting on Shiroganehiko’s back with a knee shoved against the back of his neck and curling Koganehiko’s head in a constricting headlock, Isshin lifted his eyes, lips peeling back in a wide smile. Koganehiko was tapping rapidly on his arm, facing beginning to purple, and Renji finally groaned in the near distance, scratching against the ground as he lifted to his hands and knees with a coarse cough.

Pretty standard greeting, as he recalled.

To her credit, she only blinked once. “I’m too sober for this,” Kuukaku declared, turned on a heel, and promptly went back inside.

Isshin popped his arms open, and Koganehiko fell forward, gasping for air. “Wait,” he cried, lifting himself from the pile on the ground and scooting after her. “I haven’t even said hell-” His words cut off as he ducked under a brutally timed back fist, using his lower angle to launch forward and reach for her waist from her weaker right side – when had she lost an arm? To his surprise, he actually managed to latch on, and he squeezed, sobbing into her stomach. “Is that any way to greet family?”

Kuukaku shoved at his shoulder, trying to use a knee to put some distance between them. “I need a drink before dealing with this!”

He scrubbed his beard across her skin and she took a heavy step back, dragging him on his knees and not making it very far. His feet squealed across the wood. “Where are the heartfelt hugs and tears? Do you want me to hang you by your ankles like I used to?”

“No!”

Sharp fingers dug into his scalp and tried to pry his face away, but Isshin was not going to let a few lost hairs get in his way. “My sweet little niece has become even more of a tomboy! What cruelty to waste such beautiful breasts!” The grip released but only for a moment, because he next got a solid punch to his skull.

Isshin let go at that, cradling the sore spot and tearing up. “So violent. I think I’ll cry. I don’t know where you get it from, it’s certainly not my side. You used to pick flowers for me,” he mumbled. He got another whack to the head that made him see stars.

“Oh, for god’s sake, man up! I haven’t done that for over a hundred years.”

The crash of footsteps came tearing down the hall and weren’t too pleasant to his ringing ears. “Sis! What going on?!” Sliding in his socks, a stocky man nearly slipped straight into the wall in his haste to stop, blinking at the sight of Isshin crouched and rubbing at his head. “Who’s this? What’s a shinigami doin’ in our house for?! Again?” he weakly tagged on.

Isshin squinted his eyes, looking at him more closely. He seemed really familiar. “Shut yer trap, Ganju, and get my ready room prepped. We got ourselves a long overdue guest.”

Ganju flinched at her sharp tone, and gave Isshin a dirty eye before running back the way he came. Isshin lifted himself to his feet and stared after him in muted surprise. “He grew up.”

Kuukaku craned her neck at him, face indecipherable. “A lot happens in twenty years, though I gotta say, you’re no different in that regard.” Her eyes flitted toward the entrance, brow drawing down.

Renji had taken that moment to scrape into the doorway, back hunched and tucking an arm around his stomach with a grimace. Isshin lifted a hand with a wide smile. “Welcome to the home of the Shiba clan!” Kuukaku socked him in his side and he gave her a wounded look.

“Follow me, and we’ll talk inside.” Turning, she padded past him without looking back.

They followed her down some stairs and after she barked out a few more directions to the pair of retainers limping behind them, they finally made their way to the main hall. Kuukaku slumped down into her spot at the front, and immediately grabbed a jar of sake from a tray at her left. She lifted it and took a deep, long swig straight from the bottle. Her chin dipped down and she slammed it back on the tray just as Ganju returned, bearing a stack of zabuton. He was frowning, but dutifully placed two down on the floor before shuffling back to the door.

Isshin was about to make note of it, but Kuukaku spoke first. “Where do you think you’re going? Get yer ass back in here, Ganju.”

He turned desperate eyes on her, clearly unhappy about their presence. “But sis, they’re,” and he lowered his voice to a terrible approximation of a stage whisper. “ _shinigami_.”

“Don’t make me tell you twice.” He sulked his shoulders and dragged his feet to sit as far away from the pair as he could, scowling at the wall. Kuukaku turned back and motioned for them to sit. “Sorry, seems my idiot brother can’t put two and two together.”

Isshin shrugged, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the zabuton, scooting back and forth to settle his weight more comfortably. Renji was more formal, tucking his feet into seiza, and looking probably about as stiff and out of place as Ganju did. “Now, do you want to talk about the reason your friend is here, or do you want to try and explain the bigger issue here?”

Ooh, she was angry, and he winced.

Renji, clearly not sensing her mood, decided to speak up on his own behalf. “I’m only here to make a delivery. I just ran into him on the way.”

“Hehh,” she drawled out, green eyes flashing. “Just happened to run into him, eh?”

“I was expecting you’d be at least a little happier to see me.”

“You have exactly five minutes to explain to me where you have been before I kick your ass to hell and back.” Ganju turned at that, blinking curiously around his still prominent frown.

Isshin smiled humorlessly, not sure five minutes could really cover it all. “In a gigai.”

Her nostrils flared, and her fingers creaked around the bottle still clenched in her hand. “Gigai?” she hissed. “Did Yoruichi know about this?”

He scratched idly at his wrist. “Not for a while. But both Kisuke and I asked her to keep it to herself.”

“Well, there’s one less person to eviscerate. So you're telling me you just fucking _ran away?_ ” The bottle would probably crack soon. Either that, or get hurled at his head. “Just like that. Do you have _any_ idea what happened after you left? While you were off meandering in the human world —”

“It wasn’t a vacation,” Isshin cut her off in his defense, trying to stress the importance that to him, family was still paramount to everything. “I have a son. And two daughters, twins. I think you’d like them.”

Kuukaku clacked her mouth shut, teeth snapping shut around what she had been about to say. A long silence stretched, and she stared at him, long and hard, eyes narrowing. Slowly they widened, and she looked infuriated all over again, because clearly she had pieced together just who his son was. Not hard, considering his strong Shiba genes. “Does he know?”

“I told him how I met his mother, and what forced me to stay, just before the royal palace was invaded. He had to know his roots in order to move forward.”

He could feel Renji’s inquisitive eyes on him, but kept his attention ahead. Kuukaku’s hand uncurled, falling away from her makeshift weapon, and she stared a hole into the floor in front of her. “Do you think he realized when he came back?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. I wasn’t there.”

Ganju’s face was pinched tightly, and he was now squinting at him. “Wait, wait. The way you’re talkin’, it’s as if you know sis, but who the hell are you?”

“Ganju,” she warned, voice suddenly very tired.

“But sis, I don’t like how this guy’s actin’ all friendly. Ain’t no way we’d be chummy with no shinigami jerk –”

Renji bodily flinched when the bottle crashed and exploded into pieces against the wall, and Ganju had fallen back, hands pressed into the tatami behind him with wide eyes. “Mind your manners, Ganju.” Kuukaku lowered her arm and lifted her chin to look at him, face tense. “Sorry.”

Isshin shrugged again, trying but failing to contain the melancholy from clouding his smile.

“Uhm,” Renji said, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “I hate to interrupt, but the letter I got from my captain – ah, Captain Kuchiki – it’s addressed to the head of the Shiba clan, and it seems kind of urgent.”

Kuukaku blinked at Renji, giving him her full attention for the first time since their arrival, mouth turning down at the corner. “Letter?”

Renji reached into his kosode, pulling out a folded paper with the distinctive seal of the Kuchiki clan embossed in wax. Kuukaku clicked her tongue and shoved her hand out so Renji could give it to her. She frowned down at the seal, lips pressing together in unhappy frustration. “I knew this was coming the minute those damn tremors started. Goddamnit.” Her eyes lifted, pinning Isshin with a long stare before her shoulders slumped with an explosive sigh. “I see. _That’s_ why you’re here. There’s not nearly enough sake in the world to deal with this.”

Isshin gave her a crooked smile. “I thought you liked trouble?”

“This isn’t trouble,” she muttered darkly. “It’s duty.”

* * *

Shunsui cracked his jaw as he yawned, lifting a hand to rub at it to work out the soreness. While he really wanted to take a very long nap, eat a sizable meal, and let his wounds continue to heal in privacy, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any of those things for a while longer. He pulled his hat on before pushing open the door and stepping outside, squinting at the bright onslaught of the late morning sun. He really didn’t need a headache on top of everything else.

The courtyard was empty, save for a dusting of fine ash and dust that had settled over the past several days. He strolled down the bridge, dodging around the broken boards and making his way toward the towering gate. By this point, he was sure his presence emerging outside the kidou barriers had been noted, so he took his time, casually stepping past the exit and expecting the worst. The flutter of color came from his left, the wind of shunpo steps billowing the sleeves of his kimono. The eagerness of her arrival threatened to make him laugh, but he doubted his lieutenant would appreciate it.

“Captain!” Nanao was immediately at his side, her eyes rapidly switching back and forth between his own in some search of answers to the council’s decisions. He gave her a lazy grin instead, tugging the brim of his hat a bit lower. It really was too bright outside, especially after being cooped up underground for so long. His very bones felt like they were creaking.

“You really didn’t need to come pick me up, Nanao-chan. I’m a big boy, I can make it back on my own.”

She huffed, fingers pinching the book under her arm enough to make the leather binding creak. “Not with those wounds, you can’t.”

She was right, of course, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He’d only had enough time for basic first aid before rushing off to the Central 46 Compound, and they had been progressively throbbing as he continued his argument downstairs. His rugged, handsome charm was likely disturbed by pallor, and he really wanted a shave. Shunsui would lay bets on how bad he probably looked. Her eyes tracked down his face to inspect the rest of him, pausing on his bandaged torso with a frown. Without asking for permission, she brought her hand up and pressed her healing kidou over the worst of his injuries. It tickled in a very uncomfortable way, and he chuckled aloud. “You’ve gotten very forward lately,” he teased, shying away slightly from the intrusive sensation.

“Stay still and let me check the damage,” she sniped back, voice sharp and stern, and he quietly smiled to the side. What kind of a captain made his lieutenant worry so much? This was something she would not allow him to forget anytime soon, he was sure. She might even swipe all his sake for a while.

Instead of giving her even more cause for concern, he opted for a status report to distract her. “How have things been going up here?”

She blinked, but otherwise gave no indication of the chaos that was surely still consuming Seireitei. “Captain Kurotsuchi has been almost entirely out of contact, because he sealed himself and his men inside the twelfth division’s main lab to focus on stabilizing the damage the empty throne left behind. We’re lucky his foresight before the invasion minimized the damages there. While I’m sure you have felt it, we are still suffering tremors, though they seem to be controlled and haven’t caused significant damage yet. We haven’t heard an update on the status of Soul Society’s overall condition, but judging from Captain Kurotsuchi’s demand to remain undisturbed, it is likely very serious.”

That sounded about right. The man never liked interruptions, only coming up for air once he was at a comfortable pausing point. While expected, that was still not good news to hear, because it meant he was still frantically struggling.

“Anything from the royal realm?”

“Nothing.”

He tilted his head, a bit concerned at the silence. At the very least, Royal Guard Hyousube should have survived. Rumors painted him as veritably immortal. His presence in the palace was vital for extending the necessary invitations to outsiders for the coronation of a new soul king. Things would be much more troublesome otherwise, and Shunsui sighed at that. “What else?”

“The seventh has managed to put out the fires in the southern areas of Seireitei, and the ninth is still finding more wounded amidst the rubble. Captain Zaraki is still comatose in the fourth, and Lieutenant Kusajishi is still missing. The eleventh have been operating under the guidance of third seat Madarame, but we haven’t heard any reports about the rogue Quincy intruders yet. The last they were spotted was the day of Yhwach’s defeat, as they fled. The assumption right now is they have gone into hiding, although we are not sure if they remain in Seireitei, moved into Rukongai, or somehow escaped back into another dimensional space.” The glow of her kidou faded and she straightened, looking dissatisfied even though he did feel marginally better. “The second division is currently tracking and returning escapees back to the Maggot’s Nest, and the tenth is handling the riots in Rukongai. The reports of casualties continue to rise.”

“What about our division?”

“We’ve managed to secure the underground detention center with temporary warding on most of the floors until things have stabilized and proper repairs can be made. We put most of the focus on the lower levels, and are working our way up. Aizen was seriously injured in the battle, but because of his constitution, he was promptly sealed back in a binding chair before he could wake up and was taken to Muken in lieu of medical treatment. Pardon my harsh decision. Sir.” Nanao didn’t sound the least bit apologetic for tossing a badly bleeding Aizen back into the pit, and he laughed at her petulant callousness. He regretted it a moment later, trying not to flinch at the sting in his side.

“No, that was the right decision, Nanao-chan. Aizen is the most dangerous element now that Yhwach is gone.” He rubbed at his chin, thoughtful. Truthfully, he didn’t think Aizen would be inclined to make a break anyway. The man was a brilliant strategist, and given that his original goal was to assassinate the Soul King in the first place, his next steps probably had to be taken carefully. Shunsui didn’t like it, because Aizen was a patient man, and his intentions were never clear. They had to be especially careful of him now.

Shunsui closed his eyes, a humorless smile spread on his face. Ah, so much trouble. “How are the repairs going?”

“The Senkaimon is almost irreparably damaged. It will take much more time to make it functional again. The Kidou Corps have been rotating and coordinating with the fifth to repair it in parts. The tremors have made progress slow.” Her voice stilled, hesitation coloring her words. “The tenth has reported deteriorating conditions on the farthest outskirts of Rukongai. Reishi integrity has dropped, causing many of the plants to die and buildings to crumble. Missing reports have begun to pile in and the people are beginning to panic. Sir, I believe the stability of Soul Society will not be able to last very much longer. What has the council decided?”

He opened his eyes and glanced down at her. “For now, nothing.”

She blinked in surprise, taking a moment to catch up to him as he started to make his way back to the damaged barracks. He canted his head, eyeing the billows of smoke still floating on the air. “Nothing?”

It had gotten colder since he’d been with the council, too. Shunsui discretely tugged his kimono a bit more snugly around his shoulders and hummed in confirmation. It was a big concession, and one he was unwilling to leave the council without. They were quite stubborn about it, but as the hours continued to pass and the tremors continued to shake, they finally yielded to the bend of their own laws. “I managed to have them grant a reprieve. Has there been anything else to report?”

“Ah,” she started, apparently remembering something. “Yes.” Shunsui glanced over his shoulder and saw her open the book at her side, pulling out a folded slip of paper from between its pages. “This.”

He blinked at the seal, then reached out to take it with a small curl of his lip. Someone had been busy. “Have you heard anything else?”

“Just that.”

Well, that wasn’t too surprising. Everyone had to wait until he had finished speaking to the council. “Alright. Make a status update to each of the captains that the council has suspended its session pending external conference.”

Nanao nodded, but tension still pinched her features. “What about the Quincy boy –” she paused for a moment, as she searched her memory. “Ishida Uryuu? We’ve kept him housed with Kurosaki Ichigo and the other humans.”

Shunsui wanted to sigh, because it seemed he might wind up with a headache after all. “The council want to try him as a ryoka and wartime criminal.”

Her mouth parted in a short breath and he saw the surprise flash through her eyes. He understood her indignation, because it was only through his help that Yhwach had been able to be struck down at all. “But surely the council knows how instrumental he was? To charge him as a war criminal…” The implication was clear. If found guilty, he’d be executed.

Really, all of this was so much trouble. He doubted Kurosaki would take the news kindly, and that was just yet another problem to toss on the pile. Regardless, Shunsui had to deal with everything one thing at a time. “For now, make sure he remains treated well. He may already suspect the situation he is in, but if he makes any move to leave, the charges against him can be revealed and the necessary means to hold him captive are authorized. I’d rather not resort to those kind of means, and he seems like a smart kid. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Nanao frowned at the ground as they continued to walk. “I will make the arrangements.”

He smiled faintly, finally lifting his chin to look over the ruins of what remained of Seireitei. “I’ll leave that to you, then. In the meantime, I guess I’ll take a trip to the fourth.” Her head lifted, peering at him with a question in her eyes. Shunsui tugged at the brim of his hat and had to chuckle. Nanao was getting too smart. What happened to his innocent little bookworm? “What?”

“About the letter…”

His smile spread, though not from humor. “I’ll make the other arrangements.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

She nodded once, satisfied, then leveled him a stern glare. “Make sure the fourth looks over you thoroughly. I expect a detailed report on your condition by this afternoon.”

Yea, she wasn’t going to let this go any time soon. “How strict.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind an ear and adjusted her glasses across the bridge of her nose with stiff fingers. “If there was anywhere you could run to, it would certainly not be a place I could not find with you in such a sorry state. Please consider your position more seriously.”

Shunsui watched the slight pinch in her brow shadow the lids of closed eyes, finally smiling with feeling. Position, huh. He rubbed at his neck and peered up at the sky. When did he ever get the chance to forget it at all? “Yes, yes, I have taken your consideration to heart dear Nanao-chan.”

When her eyes opened, there was light there again. His eyes twinkled as she let out a deep sigh. “This afternoon, and no later.” She straightened her back and walked forward with solid steps, her book held tightly to her side and the sleeves of her shihakushou swishing in the wind.

He grinned at her slim back, tall and confident. Ah, so scary. With a much more sedate pace and smile still tugging at his lips, Shunsui followed after her.


End file.
